


Skeptic

by cellard00rs



Series: The Bonded Series [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Barebacking, Blood, Celestial Incest, Daddy Kink, Death, Demon!Shane, Demons, Disabled Character, Disturbing Themes, Experimental Style, Fallen Angels, Gore, Gun Violence, Guns, Humor, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Meta, Murder, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, Past Relationship(s), Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture, References to Drugs, Riding, Supernatural Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-05-21 00:43:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 128,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14905263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellard00rs/pseuds/cellard00rs
Summary: Ryan doesn't believe Shane is lost. He'll go deep into the darker recesses of the supernatural world to save his demon friend no matter the cost. Even if the cost is his very soul.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully this sequel to 'Believer' will stand up. I don't know. I'm nervous as all hell.

The sun is blinding. It somehow manages to cut through the extensive canopy of trees. Tall, tall trees with lush, green leaves and the air has such a fresh scent, a _new_ scent. Everything _feels_ new. It’s as if everything around him was just created and Ryan knows he’s in a dream.

He’s had enough of these now to know. Yes, the last few were hazier, but this? This is the kind of lucid dream he’s used to. It feels real and fully formed.

Ryan’s standing at the heart of a deep forest. The songs of various birds and insects are almost deafening and he walks forward, fresh dirt and grass staining his sneakers.

Little white flowers cling to the bases of trees, their woody bark covered with bits of moss and the strangest thought comes to him. _Illinois_. He’s in Illinois. Or the place where Illinois will someday be.

Because, again, he somehow knows this is all new. He’s at the beginning somehow. The beginning of…this. The world, maybe? Time? It’s indescribable, this knowledge but no, it’s not _quite_ the beginning. Just very, very close.

After all, the trees have been growing for some time, as has everything else but it’s – it’s definitely early in the history of everything and suddenly the sound just cuts out.

The cacophony of nature dies and it’s eerily quiet. Ryan stops walking and tilts his head to one side. Wind whispers through the trees, rustling the leaves and then there’s a deafening sound. Ryan can’t even explain what it is.

It’s like triumphant horns colliding with breaking glass and he covers his ears, wincing, because it _hurts_. It’s like somehow there’s a hole being punched right through his soul and he’s never reacted to a noise in such a visceral way.

It’s an instinctual, elemental response and then there’s this awful clattering and he looks up to see branches snapping, leaves flying everywhere as something big crashes through the canopy.

It’s a blur of blue, gold, brown, and long pale limbs and then it hits the dirty ground about twelve feet in front of him. He blinks and walks closer and then he just _knows_.

It’s Shane.

But this area isn’t the only place in its beginning, because this is _Shane’s_ beginning. Ryan knows because Shane’s wings…they’re feathered. Feathered and glorious and they twitch and shake and one of Shane’s big hands reaches up, reaches towards the sun.

Sunlight plays over his fingers and he seems stumped by it, horrified, as he starts huddling in on himself, cowering. Ryan walks closer and he knows Shane can’t see him. He can’t explain how, but he just knows it and Shane’s…trembling.

He looks impossibly _young_. His brown eyes are wide and wild and he’s naked. His long limbs are collected close to his body and his wings wrap around him, as if trying to offer comfort, protection. His eyes zip this way and that and he’s so _afraid_. Ryan’s never seen him afraid. Not like this.

But his gaze goes back to the wings, because it’s impossible not to look at them. They draw Ryan’s eyes because they’re so…glorious. Blue, gilded in gold and calling them either of those colors is a disservice, because they’re past that but it’s the best his human mind can comprehend. The blue so light, the gold so pure. Heavenly. Ha. Of course they are.

Ryan wants to touch them. He wants to run his hand along one and feel them, but he stays back, because he knows he can’t interact with this. This is a dream. Or a memory. Or…something. And Shane starts rocking back and forth, arms wrapped around his long legs and he looks up at the sky and rocks, rocks, rocks.

He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to. His expression and his actions scream volumes. He’s scared and alone and confused. He’s lost. Ryan reaches out and, as if on cue, something happens.

The ground beneath Shane quakes. It moves and out of the dirt comes a small, clawed hand. It grasps at his right ankle and Shane lets out this…cry. Ryan’s never heard anything like it. It immediately brings tears to his eyes and he blinks them back as another hand rises up.

It’s just as disturbing as the last, covered in boils – black and rusty red and it clutches at his left wing, tearing into the feathers. Another cry, this one more heart wrenching than the last and Shane struggles, he bats at the hands but suddenly more emerge from beneath the earth.

A multitude of hands appear. Some are clawed, some diseased, some inhuman. They begin ripping Shane’s wings apart, feathers shedding like tears and once removed they dissolve into nothing, ashes in the wind and Shane keeps crying.

This awful keening sound and his struggles are weak, futile, and the hands wrap around his whole body, they tug and they pull and the earth beneath him opens up wide, the hands yanking him downwards even as he fights, struggles.

Sulfur hits the air, thousands of endless screams following that, and the air itself seems to ignite with an unbelievable, oppressive heat – and Ryan can only watch in horror as Shane’s pristine features are stained, ruined. His skin painted with soot and blood as he’s swallowed up by the earth, dragged below its surface towards…

Ryan closes his eyes shut tight because he doesn’t want to see this. He can’t see this. When he opens them again, the forest is back to its prestigious self. Birds and insects sing again, wind whipping cheerily through the trees and Shane is gone. The only sign he was ever there at all is one flawless feather, floating through the air, undissolved and perfect but it doesn’t matter. Nothing does and this, mercifully, is when the dream ends.

 

+

 

Ryan’s eyes blink open, taking in the shadowy recesses of the motel room he’s in. His eyelashes are clumped, gummy with shed tears and he curls upright, moaning. He puts his head in his hands and sniffs. Dream? More like nightmare. Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

He clicks on a nearby bed side lamp and scratches at the back of his neck before running one finger under his nose, grimacing at the wet trace there. Crying. Crying in his sleep. _That’s_ something he can do without. He sighs and gets to his feet, goes into the shitty little bathroom and washes his face and hands thoroughly before clicking on the television.

The early morning news is on, some chippy newscaster talking about the weather and he checks his cell. He sees Mal called and it gives him some grim satisfaction. Good, if the demon called, he might finally have a good fucking lead this time. Ryan swipes at the screen, checking for other messages. Nothing from any of the other contacts he’s made in the past few days, so that’s a shame, but not a surprise.

It hasn’t been an easy road, getting his foot in the door of the supernatural world. Before, he always had Shane with him. Now he has to go about this solo and that’s tougher. Even with the stamp of approval, his bond status isn’t readable anymore. It’s not something supernatural creatures can sense. So, to them, it’s as if his rights have been revoked.

But they haven’t been. He still has them, just like he still has the bond. Oh, it might not be a metaphysical thing anymore, but it’s _there_. The fucking bond is engraved on his goddamn heart and he feels it every day, every night as he searches and searches. Searches for Shane and he puts in a call to Malthazor as the news shifts to traffic.

“What’ve you got for me?”

“Hey, boss,” Malthazor calls him this now without hesitation, “How’s Wichita?”

“It’s Kansas, you got something for me or not?”

Malthazor lets out a heavy sigh, “Boss, sir…um, h-have you done _anything_ fun?”

“What’re you? My mom?” he grumbles but he knows the demon is coming from a good place. A demon. Coming from a good place. He pinches the bridge of his nose and tries again, “I went down by the water. Saw the Keeper of The Plains.”

“Oh! Awesome! That must’ve been neat!”

“Yeah, seeing all the ghosts there was a blast,” Ryan smirks, part sarcasm, part honest truth, “Didn’t know that spot was haunted.”

“Eh, it’s drawn a lot of ghouls over time. And, like I’m sure you’ve noticed, water’s gorgeous there.”

“Yeah, it is,” Ryan admits and then finds himself confessing, “I had another dream.”

“Did you?”

He makes a confirming sound and just as Malthazor starts to ask if it was a ‘good’ one (they never are) the news captures Ryan’s attention, “…investigators trying to determine what caused a deadly crash yesterday evening. The driver, a fifty seven year old male, was killed. Police say the driver lost control of his vehicle and ran off Roosevelt Boulevard into a large tree. However, in a bizarre turn of events, a young girl was discovered in the victim’s trunk. Officials have yet to release any further information, but it _is_ noted that the girl amazingly sustained very little injuries…”

Malthazor’s still talking, rambling about god knows what, when Ryan cuts back into the conversation, “What are the numbers?”

Malthazor stops midstream, confused, “Num-?”

“The cabal, Mal. What are we at?”

He makes a little ‘ah!’ and Ryan can hear some computer clicking in the background, “We’re at seventy ei…seven. Seventy seven.”

“Mal…”

A loud exhale, “It…it _just_ dropped. Must have been an update from-”

“From last night,” Ryan cuts in, eyes on the screen, “Shit. I missed him. _Again_.”

“Hey, this isn’t an exact science, “Malthazor argues defensively, “Trying to pinpoint his plan of attack…his trajectory is all over the place! Two weeks ago he’s in Berlin, then Budapest, then he’s stateside. I’m pretty sure he’s going to stay stateside now. Most of the eviler cabal members are here – no surprise, _America_ – but this is still a big country. I figured Kansas was a good bet, but it was hard to get info on the cabal member there…”

“Let me guess? A reportedly fifty seven year old human male with a predilection for young girls?”

“Sounds right,” Malthazor mutters and there’s more typing, followed by a light ‘uh huh’, “Okay, got it. Baraxese. Ooo! A duke of Hell, no less! Masquerades or, _did_ masquerade, as a Kansas state senator-”

“They didn’t mention that,” Ryan murmurs to himself as Malthazor continues, “-well known for his taste for…” Malthazor breaks off and just lets out a disgusted sound, “Do…do I gotta read this?”

“You’re a demon, aren’t you?”

“I’m a demon with _standards_ , Ryan,” Malthazor actually called Ryan by his name, which is rare and shows how serious he is about this, “Murder, arson, torture? I’m cool with all of that. If you’re _grown_. A grown soul is fair game. But a kid’s? That’s…”

“Not your forte?”

“Shouldn’t be _anyone’s_ forte. I don’t mind driving nails through the eyes of humans who’ve committed gross adultery or chowing down on soul shards from a Pit-dissected rapist, but I’ll be damned if I go for a young fresh soul. Hell, most demons aren’t _that_ depraved.”

Ryan can’t help but smile, “Honestly…I’ll never understand you guys, will I?”

“You’re welcome to try. In fact, if you go ahead and just come back home-!”

“No.”

“Sir…”

“No, Malthazor. Not until I find him.”

Mal grumbles under his breath and Ryan clicks off the television. They’ve had this argument before. Several times. He doesn’t know why Malthazor keeps trying, but he does, “I understand, sir. But here’s the thing – we’re reaching the statute of limitations on what we can do to hold your and Mr. Madej’s jobs at Buzzfeed and-”

“I don’t care about that.”

“Y-you don’t-?”

“I don’t care about the show, Mal. I’m not thinking about that right now.”

“Well, you need to, Ryan,” and at this Ryan blinks because, wow, his name twice in one conversation? Malthazor must really be reaching the end of his rope, “Look, I’m your advisor, okay? I’m also Mr. Madej’s advisor. In fact, I was his advisor first and he always impressed upon me how important it was to him that the status quo remains that. Status. Or is it quo?”

Ryan is _almost_ tempted to chuckle at that one.

Malthazor plugs on, “Either way, he wanted to remain your monitor and he wanted to keep his job at Buzzfeed. I know you’re trying to find him and bring him back, but-but what are you trying to bring him back to?”

This question actually draws a sigh from Ryan and he pinches at the bridge of his nose again. Dammit. It’s a good argument.

“If, and this is big ‘if’, if you manage to succeed, I’ll imagine he’ll want things just as he left them, yes? Which includes his job as a Buzzfeeder or-or whatever.”

“Okay but, even if I concede to your point, how is my coming back going to help anything? Even if I start working again, Shane’s still missing. Shane still loses his job.”

“Not necessarily,” Malthazor returns and his tone is colored with how pleased he is at winning this one, “Our current actions to cover your absences – mind wipes, time displacement – those options are reaching their conclusions, but there’s another, more lasting course of action we can take. However, in order to do that, I need you back here, even if only temporarily.”

Ryan sighs and looks at the black television screen. Well. Shane _has_ come and gone. He nods, “Okay, okay. Get me a return ticket.”

 

+

 

**DiscordChannel/IDK BFU BOYS**

 

Missyb – OMG! Boys’ll be back soon!!!

appletatersprecious (Devon) – I know! So excited! Wonder where they’ll go for this season of supernatural!

queenie – whatevs. Ghosts aren’t real. #shaniacs

Missyb – they are! fight me in the pit, ali! ;p

queenie – I’ll fight you to hurry up and finish ur fic. U killin me – lol.

Missyb – you’re too sweet. Working on it. school’s the woooorst. I feel like dying.

gghost62 – Been there.

Missyb – hi, gg! Welcome!

gghost62 – Hello. You can call me Gladys if you want. Or GG. I’m still so nervous about this. I’m very new to this whole thing.

appletatersprecious (Devon) – new to the fandom?

gghost62 – That and more. Still trying to figure out this typing/internet thing.

Missyb – ???

gghost62 – We didn’t have this when I was alive.

Missyb – What?! ROFLMAO!!! :D Take that, ali! gg’s on my side! Ghosts are real.

gghost62 – Of course, they are! Who says they’re not?

queenie – take it you’re a Boogara then?

gghost62 – Boogara?

appletatersprecious (Devon) – oh man, you ARE new to the fandom.

queenie – shaniacs = agree with shane about ghosts, boogaras = agree with Ryan about ghosts.

gghost62 – OH! DEFINITELY RYAN! He’s a cutie!

Missyb – agreed! And his arms? Unf! I’m weeeeeak.

gghost62 – He’s the cutest breather I’ve ever seen. But that leggy demon isn’t too bad either.

queenie – hahah – take it ur talking about shane?

appletatersprecious (Devon) – shane is a demon!

gghost62 – You guys know that?

appletatersprecious – well, it’d explain a lot.

Missyb – (raised hands emoji)

gghost62 – What’s that?

Missyb – what? This? (raised hands emoji) there’s a whole bunch of emojis you can add on here. they’re near the talk bar.

gghost62 – Oh! Neato! (eggplant, heart-eyes, bicycle, mouse emojis)

queenie – (laughing emoji)

gghost62 – It’s nice to interact with people again. Gets boring for a ghost girl.

Missyb – ha! But imagine what that’d be like! Ghosts on the internet!

appletaterprecious  (Devon) – it’s possible.

gghost62 – Trust me. It’s _very_ possible.

Missyb – Wonder when the new season’ll start. soon, right?

gghost62 - It might get held up, but it’ll happen. They’re working on it.

queenie - Spoken with true authority!

gghost62 - friend of mine, Judy, told me there’s a delay, but they’re working on it.

appletatersprecious (Devon) –  i haven’t heard of a delay?

gghost62 – It’s hush hush. Don’t worry. It’ll come back soon.

queenie – you so weird, gg.

gghost62 – Sorry.

queenie – NO! I LIKE weird! Please keep being weird!

gghost62 - (grinning emoji)

Missyb - Imagine watching the show with a ghost!

gghost62 - Well, I’ll be watching it – so, you will be?

queenie -  gg, you’re my new weird bff.

gghost62 - I’ll be back. I’m going to log off this channel for now. Look up what ‘bff’ means.

queenie - (heart emoji)

 

+

 

Ryan drives up feeling only slightly nervous. Thus far, everywhere he’s gone has been easy to access, but this is something altogether different. This is a _television_ studio. But Malthazor sent him the proper identification along with his ticket, so Ryan’s waved in when he presents the Id’s security asks for. He sees Mal to one side and the demon waves at him.

Ryan parks and gets out to walk up to him. When he's close enough Malthazor eyes him speculatively, “Have you been sleeping alright? You’ve got bags under your eyes.”

“I’m fine,” Ryan lies and he’s surprised Mal asked, because he knows about the dreams but whatever, “So what are we doing here?”

“Follow me,” the demon signals and Ryan follows. They enter an older looking building and, much like the carpet and rug store, Ryan finds himself descending down a variety of stairs and going thorugh a multitude of tests before they find themselves in an underground passageway. Eventually they come into a space filled with different sets, as if a variety of television shows or movies are being shot down in this one great, big space.

People bustle around them and Ryan’s completely lost. They went from exactly what they saw upstairs to this? A damn near replica? What was the point? Malthazor must catch his confusion, “The studio above is for the mortals and the uninitiated. Down here? This is for _us_. We have our own studio.”

“You’re saying there’s a supernatural studio directly beneath the mortal one?”

“Uh huh. Smart, right? We were originally going to do this with the hospitals, but it proved too tricky. Here no one bats an eye at weird stuff wandering around. Topside or bottom. But you can only access bottom if you’re actually supernatural – as you saw from all the locks and codes and stuff we had to pass through to get here.”

Ryan nods, "Got it. Still doesn’t explain why we’re here.”

“I know. Come on, this way,” Malthazor eases a hand towards Ryan’s elbow but doesn’t touch it, instead just lightly directing him. They walk along until they reach a plush coach and there – sitting bold as brass – is Shane. Ryan stops dead, heart in his throat, “Shane?”

Shane gets up and walks over, expression full of regret, “Um. Not exactly.”

Ryan looks at Shane and then at Malthazor, who clears his throat, “Ryan, this is Zydact. He’s taken on Shane’s appearance.”

“Zy-?” Ryan frowns, “This…? He’s-he’s; what? A shape shifter?”

Zydact winces (winces with _Shane’s_ face), “More like a clone.”

“A clone?” Ryan gawks and a woman comes out with a delicate glass container as Mal explains, “We had some of Shane’s DNA on file, so we didn’t need him to make a copy. But we need you to do this right. That’s why I called you back here.”

The woman presents the container to Ryan and he looks down to see a lizard inside. The moment he sees it he can’t help himself. He busts out laughing, “Oh my god! You’re-you’re telling me out of all the batshit theories the _lizard_ people one is true!”

Zydact sucks in the world’s loudest gasp and the woman shoots Ryan the dirtiest look imaginable. Malthazor groans and starts waving his hands even as Zydact starts (in _Shane’s_ outraged voice), “How DARE you!”

“No! No, no, no – he– he didn’t mean it!” Malthazor starts and he does grab Ryan’s elbow this time, squeezing, “Apologize!”

“Apolo-?” Ryan scoffs as Zydact turns to the woman, “Parcis, did you hear what he called us!”

“I did,” she tugs the container closer to herself, “I _really_ did!”

“Ryan, these-they’re not-! They don’t like being called the ‘L’ word!” Malthazor hisses and Zydact nods, “We’re repordata, thank you! We may _look_ like another species, but I assure you, we are _entirely_ different and what you just said is wildly offensive!”

“So offensive,” Parcis agrees with a shudder.

Ryan looks between the two of them and at Malthazor and suddenly feels like a complete heel, rubbing at the back of his neck, “Oh. Uh, well, I’m-I’m sorry…”

Zydact huffs out and Parcis is still shaking her head and Ryan tries again, tries to show how sincere he truly is, “No, please. I-I really didn’t mean to offend you. I’m still learning and it-it was unforgivably rude of me. I apologize.”

Zydact and Parcis look at one another and then nod. Zydact reaches out and touches Ryan’s shoulder, “Alright, alright. I accept your apology.”

Ryan looks at Zydact’s hand and wishes it didn’t look so much like Shane’s. He wishes _he_ didn’t look so much like Shane. Zydact draws back his hand while Ryan shakes his head to try and clear the clouds from it, “It’s...it’s been a rough couple of weeks.”

“I understand. Malthazor’s filled us in,” Zydact offers, “And moreover, I have Mr. Madej’s DNA currently incorporated with my own. Between that and my research for my role, I know how much you two mean to one another.”

Ryan’s lips just twitch sadly at that as Parcis comes closer, “Calra needs a sample, if you would.”

Ryan looks down into the container to see the lizar- _repordata_ (he mentally corrects himself) looking up at him. Parcis gives him a smile, “Please place your hand in the receptacle. It only takes a moment.”

Ryan does as directed and hisses when it clamps its’ little teeth into him. He draws back, shaking his hand even as Parcis removes Calra, setting the repordata on the ground. It slowly changes and Ryan watches with unblinking awe as it morphs and grows, becoming more and more human before his eyes until a naked version of himself is crouched right in front of him. Another woman appears and offers him a finely made robe.

Calra rises and draws it on and it’s so weird, the world’s best funhouse mirror, because Ryan’s looking right into his own eyes, his own face. Calra offers his hand and speaks (in _Ryan’s_ voice), “Mr. Bergara.”

Ryan eyes Calra’s (his) hand warily before shaking it. Calra grins and turns to Zydact, “Heard him call us the ‘L’ word. You handled that nicely.”

Zydact just shrugs and Calra draws back his hand from the shake to clap, “Been a while since I’ve taken a human form. Feels good. Nice build. Mouth’s a bit goofy though. You see all these teeth?”

He flashes them at Zydact who just laughs, “Whatever. Look at the skin I’m wearing! This head is HUGE! And skinny? God, boy needs to eat more…”

Ryan’s eyebrows knit together as he frowns, not sure how he feels about these guys critiquing how he and Shane look _while_ looking like them. Malthazor, for his part, seems satisfied, “Good! Now, these guys’ll fill in for you and Mr. Madej for the foreseeable future. At least until this whole business with Mr. Madej’s cabal is resolved. No need to fear – they will be deeply indoctrinated. Your own mother won’t be able to tell the difference!”

“Yeah, we’ve been doing this for a loooooong time,” Zydact admits, “Hell, I think Gektae has been successfully portraying that Zuckerberg kid for ages now…”

“Wait, where did Zuckerberg go?”

Everyone but Ryan looks at one another in a dark way. Finally Zydact says, “Somewhere he can’t hurt us anymore.”

And Ryan is NOT going to dig into that one. Talk about unsolved. Anyway, the mood lightens considerably after that as Malthazor explains, “So, these boys’ll do the heavy lifting – make sure your jobs are secure and all we have to do is pay them a trifle.”

“Pay them?”

“Don’t worry, it’s being handled! Much like your airfare and accommodations, Mr. Madej’s current holdings cover all the expenses,” Mal eases a little closer, whispering so only Ryan can hear, “Keep in mind, his, ah, current activities are transferring a lot of bread our way.”

“‘Our’ way?” Ryan questions and Malthazor sniffs, “As advisor to you both, I take in a decent cut.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, “Yeah. Right. Whatever. Okay, so, job secured. Can I get back to what’s _really_ important?”

“The hunt for Mr. Madej?”

"No, the hunt for a good bagel. Yes, my hunt for Shane. Christ,” Ryan rubs at his face and then Zydact’s there, right in front of his eyes. Right in front of him and looking exactly like Shane, “Hey little guy, can I talk to you for a moment? In private?”

That voice…those words…so Shane. Ryan just blinks and nods. Zydact leads him away and once they’re a sufficient distance from the others, from the hustle and bustle of the sets, he turns to him, “Ryan, like I told you – I’ve done my research. Are you sure Sh… _I_ would want you to find me?”

Hearing it in that voice…

Ryan’s suddenly overcome with a wave of exhaustion. He’s looking up into Shane’s eyes and for a while he just. He wants to _forget_. He wants to forget all about the supernatural, all about lizard people and impostors, and the hunt and he just…he wants…

And it’s as if ‘Shane’ reads his mind. He touches his face and Ryan’s eyes feel wet as he mutters, “I-I miss him…you…I miss…”

“Shh,” is the soft answer and Shane’s arms open and Ryan falls into them. He hugs him. He hugs him so hard, so tight. Shane hugs back, talks into his hair, “I miss you too. I know it.”

“H-how-?”

“I told you…I did my research. I’m taking his place. He misses you, Ryan. There’s no way he doesn’t.”

Ryan buries his face into Shane’s chest and breathes in and fuck, he even _smells_ like him. Ryan once thought people having a distinct scent was bullshit, but he gets a lungful of something warm and clean and his knees wobble. He _aches_. He misses his reality. He misses _his_ Shane.

But at least this one is here to hug back. At least he’s here to offer support, “Eh, you’re probably right, you know. He probably _thinks_ he doesn’t want you to find him, but I’m banking on that being bullshit.”

“Oh?” Ryan asks as he draws away from the hug and Zydact looks down at him, “Yeah. After all, if you don’t bring me back, how will I finish the Hot Daga?”

Ryan lets out a watery laugh because it’s such a _Shane_ thing to say. Zydact grins, “I know how much you’d hate for it to sit on a cliffhanger.”

“Hey, you’re-you’re pretending to be him, you could _finally_ axe-”

“Nope. Not ever.” Is the firm answer and Ryan’s tempted to hug him again. Instead he murmurs, “You’re…you’re really good.”

“Am I?”

A nod, “Dead on Shane impression.”

“Well…go get the real one, huh? And fast. These limbs are too long and wiggly for my tastes.”

Ryan laughs his first genuine laugh in a long time, “That’s the plan.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated the tags and it should be noted that this story features dark subject matter. Make sure to keep yourself safe!

Ryan has had dreams like this before. Sometimes he’s outside the action, a bystander, an observer. Sometimes it’s like this. He’s _Shane_. He thinks and feels what Shane feels. It’s like when they had their emotional bond, but amped up to about a million. He walks around, breathes, feels everything Shane does. That’s what this dream is. This dream…nightmare…of Hell.

Here’s the thing about Hell, it’s pretty much a place where time and misery wrap around one another to form this perfect union. Not dissimilar to how it is for Ryan to _be_ Shane. Two things that are equally layered together, no discernible differences whatsoever. Shane fell to earth, was dragged below, and was eventually broken by this flawless combo.

But the thing about being broken is – once it happens – there’s nothing left to fear. There’s a freedom in it. Yes, you lose hope and light and the ability to be happy, but there’s something to be said for the stark nakedness of sheer, unflinching truth.

Because once you’re taken apart, once you’re dissected down to your very foundation, your core, it’s easier to embrace the emptiness of existence. Apathy is its own shield and it’s surprisingly strong – stronger than it’s ever given credit for.

This is where Shane transforms from angel to demon. He’s been tortured in the Pit for an indeterminable amount of time. Again, time and misery walking hand in hand tends to make the ability to recognize reality a blur. But the point is – his pain is gone. Physically and mentally, he just can’t _feel_ anymore.

That part of him has been stripped, whittled away to nothing and now he’s just…done. Done and bored and hollow. A void. There’s a void inside him, even back then, and maybe that’s how the actual creature was able to take root. Regardless, he’s in the Pit, facing his latest torment, and that’s when he changes.

He laughs. Shane laughs. The unholy creature before him – an eldritch horror by the name of Yvop'lilbh – stops and stares. Stares with its unblinking human-ish, multicolored eyes – several dozen of them right below what would constitute as its chin.

Yvop'lilbh doesn’t have a mouth. At least, not where one would traditionally be. It lacks a nose as well and where its’ eyes should be? That’s where the mouths are. Two of them, with elongated, jagged teeth and Yvop'lilbh is holding a long, sharp needle.

 For the past several days (is it days?) its’ been injecting Shane with some awful concoction. The mixture has a variety of different effects. Sometimes it makes his pulse race until he feels like he’s flying again; sometimes it makes all his nerve endings feel like tiny, fiery drills are digging into him, sometimes it just makes him mellow.

Whatever it does, it always causes some radical change and since each use is different, he can never get a handle on it. Yet he craves it. Craves it and despises it all the same. His feathered wings are long since gone. They’ve been stripped down to their bones, but they won’t heal. They’re covered in bloody bits, sinewy muscle tissue, feathers long gone. And he’s emaciated – long, lean body more stick than man.

Dark grooves rest under his eyes and his skin has a waxy pallor. The only clothing they’ve bothered to give him is nothing more than some dirty, loincloth-type thing and that’s what sets off the laughing. He’s chained upright in his cell (as always) when he suddenly he looks down and sees it. He thinks about his whole…situation and just laughs.

 Yvop'lilbh emits this telepathic questioning noise deep in his mind. It sounds like creepy suction cups and that makes Shane laugh harder. Yvop'lilbh’s eyes seem to glare and Shane can’t help it, just beaming at him, “‘S nothing, don’t bother yourself ‘bout it.”

Another sound and somehow, being here as long as he’s been, being through all he’s been through, Shane finds – for the first time – that he _understands_ what Yvop'lilbh is saying, “Jus’ thinking ‘bout this thing. This cloth thing…my dick doesn’t feel so protected, you know? Never thought ‘bout that before…’s just kinda _this close_ to hangin’ out.”

Yvop'lilbh just grumbles and Shane shrugs, bony wrists clinking about in the manacles they’ve worn for an unfathomable period, “You can make a grab for it…you so inclined.”

Disgust radiates from the eldritch entity and Shane offers a saucy grin, “Aw, c’mon…sayin’ you’re not a _little_ curious? I’ve seen what y’all get up to down here…”

The disgust fades a fraction and Shane licks his ever-dry lips, “Been at th’ receivin’ end of…” he can’t make himself say it, “…but mean, I’m _willing_ , if you are.”

Yvop'lilbh comes (slithers) closer and Shane’s eyes don’t betray him, even as they want to slide to the needle. Instead they stay focused on Yvop'lilbh ‘face’, “Not to mention, you’re a good looking… Yvop'lilbh, Yvop'lilbh. Beautiful, really.”

Yvop'lilbh edges ever closer and it tucks the needle behind its back. It’s held there by one of the many long, squishy looking-feelers that covers its’ entire body. A problem. Not a big one. Shane makes sure to keep his expression neutral, but his eyes lit with suggestion.

It works.

Yvop'lilbh sinks one of his feelers into the manacle on his right wrist and once it snaps open, Shane has enough room to move. To attack. He sinks his teeth directly into Yvop'lilbh’s neck. He bites right into the plethora of eyes there. The creature screeches so sharply in his mind he almost stops. Almost. But survival and excitement claim him, blind him.

His fingers, weak and skeletal, suddenly have an inexplicable amount of strength as he gouges and tears. Nails digging, ripping, and then they _change_. They become longer, sharper. Claws. They become _claws_. The pale skin slowly bleeds to red. But not with Yvop'lilbh’s blood. No, Yvop'lilbh excretes a colorless liquid – that’s his essence.

His _essence_. And suddenly Shane forgets all about the needle and the fight and everything because there’s…there’s something else. Something _inside_ Yvop'lilbh. Right in his center and Shane digs for it, rakes deeper into the eyes and flesh and then the creature just…snaps. It dissolves, melts away and something transfers into Shane and it’s…energy.

Shane absorbs Yvop'lilbh’s energy. Yvop'lilbh is gone. Smited. And Shane finds his knees are weak as he falls back on his heels, crouching as he spits out the gross mouthful from attacking Yvop'lilbh. Nausea rolls over him, but he pushes past it, instead focusing on his newly formed claws and his head…

He runs a hand through his hair and his skull is killing him. It feels like it’s being cracked in two and that’s when his horns emerge. He feels the bony protrusions work their way up through his scalp. He touches them lightly with his claws and he has _claws_. He starts admiring them again when something cool and velvety slips around his left ankle.

Shane will never call it a ‘yip’, but that’s the closest approximation to the sound he makes. It leaves him as he falls back on his ass and sees…a tail. There’s a tail waving like a flag near his hip. This is what touched his ankle. He reaches out for the tail, catches its spade-like tip and touches it, rubs his clawed thumbs over it. And then…then he feels something along his back…his _wings_ …

He turns and watches in stunned silence as his wings _finally_ heal. But not back to what they were. No. They grow a thin, membrane like skin. A skin as red as his claws and once they stop growing, once they’re done, he twitches them, flaps them and a leathery sound rings out. Shane laughs again because, well…what the hell else can he do?

Hell. He’s still in Hell. He wavers to his feet and he’s not fully whole, but…he’s getting there. He’s getting _somewhere_. Where is yet to be seen and he eyes the needle on the floor. He could take it now. Easily. He could use it, he could…

Shane looks at the black injection marks on his skin, the discolored veins nearby and shakes his head, lets it wobble about on his neck. No. No more of that. Never again. He forces himself to his feet and goes to the door of his cell. It opens easily. He walks out and all of Hell rests before him – an endless, awful landscape. The things he sees…the screams he hears…

He stands there, takes it all in and wonders what the fuck he’s going to do now when suddenly someone appears before him. It’s another demon, but he’s fully dressed. He’s wearing something that would be considered expensive and fashionable for the time (what time is this?) and he gives Shane a dazzling grin, “Ah! At last! Welcome, brother.”

Shane just looks at the demon. It’s been ages since he’s seen another soul past Yvop'lilbh, so he doesn’t know how to respond. Especially to a welcoming like that.

The demon is undeterred, “I’m Brumon. I was once like you. An angel of the betrayer. We were in the same legion, albeit you no longer remember that. We were all lost – the legion of Shamsiel. Lost and driven from our home to here. We were all tested. Some failed. Most did not. You were…questionable.”

Shane just blinks at him as Brumon slaps a hand on one of his quivering shoulders, “But look at you now! You’ve finally emerged. It felt good, didn’t it? Slaying your oppressor? Taking his energy as your own? Rising to that next level?”

Shane doesn’t know how to answer. All he knows is his body has started trembling and it can’t seem to stop. It’s as if all the changes have caught up with it, as if its’ aware of how frail it is and Brumon offers a sharp smile, “You’ll get the chance again, my brother. The chance to taste more soul, to take more power. You’ve finally shown yourself as one of us. As a true Madej.”

Shane opens his mouth and doesn’t even get to ask the question, because Brumon loves the sound of his own voice so much, “Our cabal. All those of the legion who have accepted our new savior have taken this name, joined this cabal. You will now be part of it,” his eyes are deadly, interrogative, “Unless you feel differently?”

There’s a moment of silence as Shane waits to see if the chatty demon is finally going to shut up long enough for Shane to say anything. Once he’s sure Brumon is waiting for an actual conversational response, he rasps, “Sure. Why not? Sign me up.”

“Excellent! Gloraxial?”

A woman appears. Her face looks like someone’s dragged it along a long stretch of road – scratched and deformed. But her eyes glow bright, bright yellow and her other features (claws, wings, tail) are of a similar tint and she…smiles. It’s a strange smile, but it’s a _smile_ and Shane has no idea why it’s comforting, but it is.

“Get our newest cleaned up, will you? Restored? We’ll want him moved into position as soon as possible.”

“Position?” and Shane suddenly hears his voice, recognizes how raw it sounds.

“Why, torturer, of course! You’ve overcome your own, so now you must move on to others! It’s the only true way to advance here. There are hundreds – nay, thousands – of _human_ souls down here, brother! _Souls_. The very thing the betrayer denied us!”

 _Father_ , echoes in Shane’s thoughts and he shuts it down as quickly as it comes. Betrayer _is_ more accurate. After all, it’s not like any of his prayers, no matter how fervent, were ever answered. His ‘father’ didn’t care enough to hear them. To help. He left him here. He _left_. Shane was abandoned. And the things that were done to him…

“But, much like us, the betrayer truly has little care for them as well. If they do not act exactly as he wishes, they get the same treatment as we did! Their precious souls are cast here after their demise – they fall into our savior’s dominion and he, unlike our betrayer, allows us revenge! These human souls…they cry out for punishment! And we are allowed to deliver it!”

Shane’s bottom lip sticks out and he finds himself nodding again, “Sounds good…”

“It is! I assure you! You have no idea how cathartic it feels to render a soul apart piece by piece until you’ve done so and that first time, ah!” Brumon kisses his fingertips, “Lovely! Now, Gloraxial?”

The female demon gently bends down and Shane’s rather stunned when she tenderly scoops him up into her arms. She _is_ about his height, but picking him up can’t be an easy feat. Yet somehow, she makes it look easy. She’s…strong. And that smile…

Shane lets her huddle him close and as she picks him up and flies off, he hears Brumon call out, “Welcome, Madej! Welcome home…”

 

+

 

Ryan drinks coffee like water. He _needs_ it. Especially after last night’s ‘dream’. Or memory. It’s better to say memory although not his own. Ugh. He can still taste those _eyes_. He grimaces and focuses on the flavor of the coffee. Weird that Shane’s go to move seems to be ripping out someone’s throat with his teeth. He did it with Hazothor and apparently with-with…fuck, that thing’s name is hard to recall outside of the dream.

And he really needs to stop calling them ‘dreams’. That’s _way_ too nice a term. Not to mention that, in this one, he _was_ Shane. Hence the remnants of that yucky eyeball taste in the back of his throat. Jesus, he wishes they weren’t so goddamn lucid. Also, neck beards? Nowhere near as repulsive as _eyeball_ beards, just putting that out there.

The GPS in Ryan’s car cheerfully tells him to take a right and he does as directed. He’s glad he didn’t leave Los Angeles right away. The text from Arden says he should meet her in Pasadena, so it’s good he didn’t decide to try and hunt elsewhere. Her intel is always good and he’s glad he managed to make contacts with one person in Clean Up who’s _not_ an asshole.

Okay, that’s a little unfair. It’s not like he’s met _everyone_ who works for Clean Up, but those he has…

Well, it was a rocky road in the beginning. Most of the sites he went to were _after_ Shane had come and gone and the various entities straightening up his messes weren’t delighted to see his bondmate. Or, worse, his _ex_ -bondmate as some of them outright called Ryan to his face. That led to some…colorful arguments.

Stupid ‘broken’ bond. Stupid Raziel. He ever sees that angel again; he’s going to rip his head off. Regardless, it wasn’t until he was on site in Tennessee that he met Arden and she was actually willing to work with him, to offer help. Probably because werewolves are a little better at understanding the importance of bonds. Pack mentality and all that.

Ryan sees a glimmer in the air as he approaches a swanky looking mansion and he knows for a fact a veil is up. He clicks a button on his dash and easily slips through. Once inside he sees the massive amounts of activity surrounding the place.

Outside the veil, the mansion looks pristine, undisturbed. Inside? Inside there’s big plumes of smoke billowing from the place. Emergency lights flash all over and various creatures are working to right the disaster. They haul away rubble, readjust pavement – they do everything in their power to make the area look like some monster didn’t tear through it all.

Ryan parks and gets out and, fuck his life; the first person to catch a glimpse of him is Mark Aljarafe. Mark stalks over, pointing an accusing finger at Ryan, “Whatta you think you’re doing here?”

“Cool it, Aljarafe. Arden texted me.”

Mark shakes his head, “Beat it, Bergara! We’ve got enough to deal with without hearing your fucking sob story again.”

Ryan flips him the bird and Mark looks more than ready for a good fight when Arden rushes over, “There you are! Been keeping an eye on the drive up! Mark,” she glowers at him and while he is clearly upset, he steps down because hey, he _is_ her subordinate. In both the job and the pack. He stalks off and Arden offers Ryan a genuine grin, “Glad you could make it so fast!”

“Me too. Traffic was surprisingly smooth. Thanks for the text.”

“My pleasure and sorry again for, y’know,” she gestures back towards Mark, “Dumb pup’s just perpetually bummed he’s not my type. Speaking of…”

“Oh no.”

“Andrew Ilnyckyj?”

“Taken and very much into cats.”

“Well, what about Jen Ruggirello? I _know_ she likes dogs…”

Ryan can’t help but smirk, “Stop trying to get me to set you up with my co-workers. It’s not gonna happen.”

She sticks her tongue out at him even as she takes his arm, “Spoil sport.”

“So I hear,” Ryan looks towards Mark’s direction to see he’s talking to Ben Molina. Molina offers a wave and Ryan returns it, “Wish your asshole omega was more like Ben. Ben’s a champ.”

“Mmm, Ben’s moving up in the world. You should see his girl. The merging of our two packs has been very beneficial. But it _is_ another reason Mark’s been such an ass. He thought the Byun/ Aljarafe union would result in him taking the top spot. But I beat his punk ass down and now? _I’m_ in charge.”

“Ben’s got a girl?”

Arden nods, “Yeah, he’s been hanging out with Amy, my second cousin. Looks like it’s getting serious.”

“Good for them,” Ryan murmurs and Arden hugs his arm a little closer, “Don’t worry. You’ll find ya boi. Although I will admit, his trail of destruction is getting a _little_ old. I mean, I like cleaning up as much as the next member of Clean Up – after all, a paycheck’s a paycheck, but this dude…”

They’re about to enter the mansion when Arden stops him. She points to a nearby warlock and Ryan nods, subjecting himself to the normal cover up enchant. The enchant makes it so he’ll leave no evidence behind. Footprints, hair follicles – all of that is locked in place thanks to this magic. Arden’s already been enchanted, but she sighs as she watches Ryan go through the rigmarole, “It’s so annoying that human technology has come so far. Back in the day, we didn’t have to put up with all this bullshit.”

“Back in the day? Aren’t we the same age?”

Arden shrugs, “Yeah, okay, werewolves age the same as humans, but still…I’ve heard stories. Back in the seventies? Clean Up had such an easy life. A job back then only took a couple minutes. Now? _Hours_. Especially with your guy. Speaking of…”

With Ryan’s enchant done, Arden hands him a plastic bucket. He looks at it and frowns, “I don’t need this.”

She shoots him a look, “Please. I may be a member of Clean Up and I’ve cleaned up a lot, but vomit? I like to draw the line at that one. Especially if I can help prevent it.”

“That was only one time!” Ryan argues, “And it was the _first_ spot I went to! You weren’t even there for that!”

She just holds the look, arms crossing as he continues, “I’ve been getting a lot better! Hell, last night, I ate eyeballs!”

Her head rears back in confusion and he exhales, “Dream.”

“Still getting those?”

He nods and she eyes him, “Huh. You should really get that checked out. I don’t think you two should be able to connect like that with the bond…”

Arden stops and Ryan knows she doesn’t want to say ‘broken’. He appreciates her tact. So much so that he goes ahead and takes the bucket (he won’t need it) and she gives him a pleased bob of her head. She opens the door to the mansion and there, along the slick marble is a swath of blood. The blood splatter is messy and Ryan can make out fingerprints. Someone was crawling along here, bleeding out, trying to get to the door.

Arden sums up that exact theory, “Yeah, we already fixed the door. It was a mess when we got here. This will all get wiped up as well. We’re trying to rearrange this to look like a murder/suicide. Bit hard though. There are a _lot_ of bodies inside.”

She walks forward with confidence and Ryan tries his best to exude the same air. It’s hard though, the deeper he gets in, because there’s a lot of carnage. He catches sight of one worker picking up what he’s pretty sure is dismembered fingers and another bagging a random _jaw_. A jaw. No body. Just the bottom half of someone’s _face_.

There’s loud music bellowing from deep inside the heart of the place and Arden has to raise her voice as they get closer, “He did something to the player. We can’t seem to turn this damned song off. It’s been playing on a loop since we got here.”

The rhythmic beat of Billy Idol’s ‘Dancing With Myself’ becomes more recognizable the closer they get and when Arden throws open a set of double doors, Ryan clutches the bucket hard because…yeah.

He’s not going to puke.

He’s not, he’s not, he’s…

The living area is a total wreck. Furniture is overturned and broken. Glass, food, and other random shit is just littered about everywhere. And the _bodies_. So much butchered meat. Blood and viscera are on the walls, the ceilings, the overly done decor…

There’s a record player with a pizza on it and for some reason _that’s_ what staunches Ryan’s nausea. He laughs instead. Laughs because, well, there’s only person he knows who would bother to do that during a murder spree.

Arden sees it and comes closer, points to it as she shouts over the music, “THAT PIZZA USED TO HAVE A FACE ON IT!”

“WHAT?”

“THAT-!”  The music abruptly cuts out and Arden stops. A nearby technician, who’d been messing with the stereo since they arrived, holds up his hands, “Sorry! Finally got it!”

Everyone in the room seems to collectively breathe out; the song had _definitely_ reached its zenith. Especially at that volume. Arden lowers her voice, still gesturing to the pizza, “That pizza used to have a face on it. Like, an _actual_ face, like he peeled it off and put it on there as a topping.”

Ryan just shakes his head, “It-it hasn’t been like this.”

She looks at him assessingly and he explains, “Doing something like this…the music, the pizza…so far all of Sha…the _Void’s_ attacks have been cold blooded. Calculated. Direct and to the point, but this?” he gestures around them, “This has _passion_.”

“So?”

“So, why now? Why is it…is it escalating?” Ryan walks around the room, forces himself to look at the victims. Their features are hardly recognizable. The first scene he went to, he’d been confused as to why there were bodies. When a demon is smited, its’ energy is consumed and it disappears. Demons don’t leave bodies. But demons possessing human vessels? Those do.

And, apparently, most of the Madej cabal prefers taking hosts. And taking a host? Ryan’s learned how nasty _that_ business is. You essentially have to force the human soul out. It’s not easy to do. Either the human has to consent to it for some reason or the human in question has to be so corrupt that it’s easy for the demon to slip right in. Either way, it’s a bad affair.

The people here, damaged faces or no, are not anyone he recognizes. Not that he thought he _would_ recognize them, but there has to be a reason. A reason Shane was more…heartfelt here. Because this was more Shane and less the Void. The Void, whom Ryan blames the vast majority of this on.

But this? This slaughter?

This is more his friend. Because Shane would approve of this in a weird way. If this was an unsolved true crime Ryan was describing, Shane would be amused by the choice in music, the pizza, the bizarre liveliness of the scene. Especially if everyone here was known as a malevolent asshole. Which they always are.

Thus far, Shane…the Void…whomever…hasn’t killed anyone who hasn’t had a truly horrific record.  Yes, each of them has been a member of the Madej cabal, but as far as Ryan can tell, ALL of the Madej cabal is depraved. Murder, human trafficking, child abuse…each of the victims is a demon the way Ryan always pictured a demon to be. Evil. Malicious. Terrifying beyond words.

And here are a bunch of them, massacred while a 80s song blares, and Ryan stops when he sees one and just…somehow he _knows_.

He’s never seen this guy in his life. Not ever. And his features are hard to discern, what with his spine being pulled up and hanging out of his mouth. Still, Ryan points to him, “Who’s this?”

Arden pulls out her cell, slides her fingers along it and then hums, “Human name was Bruce Taylor. He was a Hollywood producer. His demon name was-”

“Brumon,” Ryan supplies and Arden regards him with surprise, “Yeah. How did you-?”

“It was in the dream,” Ryan mumbles to himself, “It was a clue. He left me…”

Ryan feels dizzy all of the sudden and Arden rushes over, “Hey, hey – you okay?”

The dizziness…it’s, it’s _relief_. Ryan huffs out a laugh and shakes his head and Arden wraps her arms around him, helps him outside. They find an empty spot near the Olympic sized pool and she sits him down. He looks at the water and explains in a hush, “He _does_ want me to find him.”

Arden rubs a soothing hand along his back, “Breathe, Ryan.”

He does and she draws back, “You going to be okay for a sec? I had a thought…”

He nods and she draws back while he contemplates the water. A warm breeze washes over him, rippling the pool’s surface. The dream was a clue. Shane was telling Ryan where he was going next. There’s so much comfort in that because part of Ryan, a very, very small part – really did wonder if maybe everyone wasn’t right.

Maybe Shane really didn’t want Ryan to find him.

His movements since his possession have been so sporadic, so varied. Ryan has had yet to even catch a glimpse of him. All he’s ever come across is the destruction left in his wake.  The very idea that Shane really didn’t want him…

But this? This is proof positive. Shane _wants_ to be found. And by god, Ryan IS going to find him! This in mind, he wonders, have _all_ the dreams been clues? The dream before last…what was it? Was it the one where Shane fell? No names were mentioned in that. It _did_ take place in Illinois. Is that a clue? Ryan closes his eyes and rocks a little, tries to think, when Arden reappears, “You were right.”

He turns to her and she looks grave, “About clues. I…I don’t know about your dreams, but I _do_ know one of my pals worked the last case. The car crash in Kansas? Well, she told me the car was playing music. The radio was jacked all the way up to its loudest volume setting. A _Bruce_ Springsteen song was playing. I didn’t think of the correlation until now, until you noticed there was some kind of connection with the name and your dream and then I remembered-!”

“Billy Idol,” Ryan says to himself and then looks up at her, “Is there a Madej cabal member with the name ‘Billy’?”

“Might be. I wouldn’t know. I’d check with your advisor, he should be able to pull that for you,” she looks back at the mansion, “Look, I’ve… _we’ve_ …still got a lot to clean up here. But I will say, from what little I’ve taken in, this site was nothing _but_ Madej cabal members. Looks like they were having a meeting. Maybe to discuss your pal.”

“How many?”

“We’ve counted up to twenty three so far.”

“Fifty four,” Ryan sighs and rubs at his eyes again. Only fifty four member of the Madej cabal are left. And with the way Shane’s going, he’s running out of time. Once the last cabal member is dealt with, Ryan knows God’s good ol’ strike team will move in. Ryan can’t have that. He can’t lose Shane that way. Not for good. If he loses him for good…

Ryan gets to his feet and offers Arden his hand. She takes it and gives it a good shake, “Good luck, man. Hopefully the next time I see you, it won’t be at one of these things.”

He snorts, “Yeah, if that happens, I’ll be with the person you hold responsible for all of this.”

Arden shrugs, “Hey, I might not like picking up after him, but if you’re expecting censure from me about his actions, you’re barking up the wrong tree,” she smirks, eyes alight with mirth, “Get it? Barking up-!”

He groans at the bad joke, “Yeah, I got it.”

Her tone softens, “These demons, Ryan…they’re the worst of the worst. Frankly, I think its good someone is taking care of them. I won’t bore you with the details, but the things we’ve found in this place? Well, let’s just say there’s a reason that ‘Me Too’ movement is getting so much traction. With the supernaturals AND the humans.”

“That’s right,” Ryan grumbles, “Hollywood producer…”

“Yup,” Arden confirms with a sad look, “Lots of icky stuff went down here. Not at all sad to see Brumon smited.”

“Wonder what ‘Billy’ is like,” Ryan mutters as he gets to his feet and Arden looks over the pool herself, a warm wind whipping up her sleek black hair, “Hard to say, but going by his other targets? Not good, Ryan. Not good at all.”

 

+

 

**DiscordChannel/IDK BFU BOYS**

 

queenie – newest ep was a BLAST.

Missyb – AGREED! The boys were so funny! Ryan sure is getting brave thou! You see those comments from ppl thinking he and Shane are fighting? (rage emoji)

queenie – ppl are stupid.

Missyb – so stupid.

gghost62 – They’re not fighting. They’re just getting used to one another.

Missyb – ‘sup gg

queenie – hey gladys! Good to c u. what do you mean? I’m confused????

gghost62 – I can’t get into too much detail. I’m just saying the boys are learning how to banter properly.

Missyb- LOL. Those two’ve made bantering an art form. ppl who think they’re mad at one another or fighting are just dumb.

gghost62 – ppl?...is that? Is that the plupples thing?

queenie – OMG! ROFLMAO!

gghost62 – I’m still learning about the Hot Daga. Also, those letters? What do they mean?

Missyb – you’re an older fan, aren’t you?

gghost62 – Yes. Is that bad?

Missyb – not at all! I’ve just noticed you have a hard time with internet speak.

gghost62 – It is new to me.

Missyb - No problem! (kissing_heart emoji) we can explain whatever. Anyone on the server can! We’re all cool here!

gghost62 – Thanks! I appreciate it! But yeah, everyone should give the boys a break. They’re new to this.

queenie - ???

MIssyb – are you talking about new to the locations?

gghost62 – Yes. That. And not, y’know, new to being people, because they’re actually lizards.

queenie – (eyes emoji)

MIssyb – Hahahaha! I guess the illuminati ep is your fave.

queenie – It is a good one.

gghost62 – ‘Lizard’ people is actually offensive, so please forgive me.

Missyb – (…)

queenie – I think she doesn’t know what to type to that.

gghost62 – I’m just saying, Ryan and Shane are getting used to their roles. Ryan might come off as braver or he and Shane might seem like they’re arguing, but they’re totally the same guys they’ve always been.

Missyb – EXACTLY

gghost672 – And they are certainly NOT clones who are learning their respective roles.

MIssyb – (…)

queenie – Gladys, I am so glad every day that you came into this fandom.

 

+

 

“Billy? Billy, Billy, Billy…” Malthazor chants this over and over as he throws around papers, files, and other objects in his office. His _new_ office, which, while leagues better than his old one, is _still_ a mess. Mainly because Mal claims he has some sort of ‘system’. He also has a newly buried sandwich of interminable age mixed in with the clutter on his desk. Apparently it's a staple. Either way, Ryan watches him with little patience. Every minute that passes is one where he’s not looking for Shane and something in his demeanor must tip Malthazor off, because while the demon searches he clears his throat, “So, no luck so far.”

“No,” Ryan grumbles and glares at him, “Might have more if you’d, y’know, hurry.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know, I know. But see,” Malthazor searches through a file cabinet, tosses this and that about, “I’ve had a thought.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, and I’ve been thinking…ah ha!” Malthazor draws out a thick volume from the bottom drawer and chucks it on to his desk, making the whole thing shake. He looks at Ryan with a grin, “You need a portal jockey.”

Ryan’s eyebrows knit together, lips pursed in confusion, “A what?”

Malthazor taps the cover of the book and comes around the desk, resuming his seat as he flips through it, “A portal jockey! See, demons and humans are pretty much incompatible when it comes to procreation. Nine times out of ten, no baby. But! For that one percent, the kid that’s born is; y’know – special. They age way slower than the typical mortal, they get nifty gifts - pyrokinesis, levitation, but the most common ability is to teleport via portals.”

Ryan bobs his head, “Okay and that’s something I should know because-?”

“You got a name, a possible clue, but god knows if you’ll get there in time. You’ve been traveling all over the place with little to no success. What you need is speed and a portal jockey can give you that! Imagine traveling from Los Angeles to DC in a split second,” he snaps his fingers, “Like that! Boom! There!”

“It’s-? That _is_ a good idea,” Ryan says it with such surprise that Mal can’t help but scowl a little, “Hey! I _do_ have good ideas!”

“Didn’t say you did, but, well…why didn’t you suggest this before now?”

At this question Malthazor’s suddenly becomes  _very_ interested in the book in front of him and Ryan rolls his eyes, “Mal?”

The demon doesn’t look up and his skin has taken on a noticeably darker shade.

“Mal, why didn’t you suggest it before now?”

The demon sighs and finally pulls back from the book, slumping in his chair a little, “Uh, because, well…the portal jockey in question. She…she offered her services.”

“And…that’s a bad thing because-?” Ryan draws out the words, says them slowly because he really doesn’t get it. Malthazor’s blush grows even worse, “Yeah, um, she…she might’ve heard through the grapevine about this whole thing and it might be…um, well…that-that she used to be…involved with Mr. Madej.”

Ryan gets it now, “So, what? She’s his ex?”

Malthazor twists about in his chair, continuing to look severely uncomfortable and Ryan laughs, “You know…this isn’t high school. I can take being around someone Shane was involved with.”

“No-? No jealousy?”

“I don’t see it being a problem.”

Malthazor brightens considerably, “Oh! Well! That’s-! That’s super! Also proof that you are definitely _not_ the normal human man! Or demon for that matter. We can be notoriously petty about that kind of thing.”

“Yeah, not my style. So, where is she?”

“She’s-!” Malthazor starts but suddenly a sound rings out. It’s a snapping, crackling noise, like fireworks and Ryan turns at it. He turns to see a swirling circle form on the floor nearby. It rises up like a sparkling curtain of fireworks and once it disappears a petite woman stands there, her hair a riot of curls. She gives Ryan a grin as the circle closes above her head, “Here!”

She steps forward and he rises from his seat as she offers her hand, “Sara Rubin and buddy...you look like you could use a ride.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the concerned - NO. I am NOT going to do some stupid, petty crap where Ryan and Sara end up being jealous of one another. They're going to get on like a house on fire. Just in case you're concerned about that trope rearing it's ugly head. Sara's only showed up because I like her so much and because this is a clear AU. In other words, I legit respect Sara and Shane's real life relationship and am, in no way, planning on disparaging it.
> 
> ...also bonus points for those who watch 'Teen Wolf' and know who I'm referring to when I write about Arden...


	3. Chapter 3

Ryan’s on the outside looking in again.

He’s an invisible bystander standing in a very fine looking drawing room. There’s a booming somewhere in the distance and Ryan’s pretty sure it’s cannon fire. Where the hell is he this time? Or more like _when_ the hell. What _year_ is this? Everything around him is definitely older. He feels like he’s at some historical site, but it’s not historical at the moment. It’s brand, spanking new and the cannon’s boom again as a man (most likely a demon) enters.

Going off his dress, the stuff around him, and the war sounds in the distance, Ryan’s banking on this being during the American Revolution. More so when the man is met with another guy who is clearly a British solider. That bright red getup is a dead giveaway. The first guy addresses the solider, “Galrept, have you any idea where Madej might be?”

A heavy sigh, “I thought he was still below.”

“No, he’s topside. As is Adamox.”

Galrept’s eyes widen, “A-Adamox, sir?”

A nod, “Yes, yes. He’s here and he’s looking for Madej.”

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do.”

The solider disappears and the demon that’s left begins pacing. He keeps looking upwards and Ryan gets the impression he’s not worried about the sounds of the battle outside so much as something upstairs. Or _someone_ upstairs and this is when things get a little weird, because Ryan literally watches time elapse.

When he first became conscious here, it was daytime. But now everything seems to be on fast forward. He watches in awe as his surroundings blur around him, shifting and changing, the light outside the closest window dimming and dimming until it’s nighttime.

The next thing Ryan knows, he’s still in the same place but the guy from earlier is sitting, a roaring fire near him as the same door Galrept exited from opens. Opens to let Shane walk in and Ryan knows he can’t be heard, so he takes this chance to bust out laughing because, oh my god! Shane in period piece clothing is _priceless_!

Honestly, this is the only time Ryan can recall even having the slightest bit of fun during one of these dreams/nightmares/memories but really, how can he not when Shane’s wearing _that_. It’s an American soldier’s uniform and the tri-corner hat and holy shit - the hair! THE HAIR! Ryan can’t stop laughing because it’s just too goddamn funny, that hair.

It’s long enough to be in a little ponytail. Ryan almost wishes he _could_ interact with this, because if he could, the first thing he’d do is tug the hell out of that. Shane looks like he’s wandered off the set of ‘The Patriot’ – like he’s someone’s stand in. He’s got a musket over one shoulder as he draws out a canteen of water and takes a sip before giving the demon sitting near the fireplace an almost dismissive salute, “Sir.”

The demon lets out an aggrieved noise, “Madej, what are you wearing?”

Shane looks down at his uniform, then back at the guy, “Problem?”

“We’re _supposed_ to be helping the British!”

“What’s the fun in that? They’re winning.”

Another noise of annoyance and Shane sighs, “If I may, Wiltharax, sir – it makes sense to me to pit the two sides more against one another, right? I mean, war’s a constant up here. Mortals die, we get some of their souls – win, win. Besides, I like the colonials. They’re…scrappy.”

Wiltharax just glares at him and gestures to the door Shane came through, “Adamox is here.”

Shane stands up a little straighter at that, “I see.”

“He’s requested your presence.”

Shane points to himself, “Me?”

“That IS what I said.”

Shane’s lips screw up to one side before he offers a curt nod and turns, eyeing the door, “He’s-?”

“Upstairs.”

This gets a gulp and then a soft, “Right,” and as Shane exits, Ryan follows him. They go carefully up the stairs and come to a set of ornate double doors. A servant stands there as if his only role in life is to open these doors, which he does, allowing them entrance. Shane walks in with a casual air and Ryan tries to adopt the same but…damn.

Dream or no, this office is intimidating. It’s all ebony fixtures with the smallest hints of ivory and dark red accents. It looks like somewhere Hannibal Lecter would work, which is fitting once Ryan catches a glimpse of who is, no doubt, Adamox.

He’s tall and slender, his hair a salt and pepper mix with eyes a cold maroon and his lips…they hold this odd, sardonic little smirk to them. And Ryan doesn’t know _how_ he knows this, but he just knows Adamox is a member of the Madej cabal. More so, he’s their leader. He has this unsettling air about him, a dreadful might, as he leans against one the most monstrously large desks Ryan has ever seen.

He tilts his head in recognition, his voice cold and deeply accented, “Madej.”

“Mr. Adamox.”

Adamox’s lips twitch, “You know, Madej is my surname. As it is yours, yet you’ve chosen no first.”

“Do I really need one?” Shane returns, “I might be here right now, but I rarely come topside. Besides, none of the human names fit…”

“Waiting for the right one?” Adamox returns with a true (and pretty fucking creepy) smile, “I can respect that. If you would, please…”

He gestures to a chair in front of his desk and Shane takes it. Ryan walks closer and for a second, a very, very brief second – he swears Adamox sees him. The demon’s eyes alight right over where Ryan’s standing but that’s-? That’s not possible. This is just a dream. A memory. Isn’t it?

But just as quick as the heart stopping moment starts, it ends, Adamox’s gaze shifting away as he crosses his arms, attention firmly directed on Shane again, “Do you know why I’ve summoned you?”

“No, sir, I do not.”

“You’re normally regulated to the Pit, correct?”

“Yes. But I earned the right to access this plane long ago. It was my understanding I could come and go as I please.”

“Hmm, yes, true, but – as you yourself just stated – you rarely come here. You’ve seemed content to engage in tortures, watch over souls…yet, I sense no passion.”

Shane says nothing to this, just waits, and Adamox eyes squint as if he’s looking off into the distance, “In the beginning, you were very much like the rest of us. Thirsty for vengeance. But over time…I’ve noticed a change in you. It is not one dissimilar to my own. I too, became…colder.”

Ryan looks at Shane and tries to think of Shane as cold. Shane’s never come across to him as ‘cold’ before. Granted, this is much earlier in his history. Still, Adamox is making it sound like Shane’s heartless or sociopathic or something. Ryan doesn’t think of Shane that way.

Regardless, Adamox continues, “I sought power. I received it. I am the highest-ranking level a demon can be. You, however, remain at level one. You’ve only smited one demon in all your existence and that was your first tormentor.”

Shane scratches the side of his neck, “I don’t see the need for advancement.”

“Indeed,” Adamox gets up from where he’s been leaning on his desk, walking around Shane in a predatory circle, “I’ve noticed a level of antipathy on your part. In all aspects of demon hood. You stick to the outer reaches of Hell. The ones that hold souls with less offensive marks against them and, as far as I’ve witnessed, when you come to the surface, you do very little.”

 “Witnessed? You’re-you’re watching me?” Shane scoffs, “That’s got to be boring.”

Adamox loops back around and is facing Shane again, Ryan again, as he smiles, and this smile is very cutting. All sharp pointed fangs on full display, a weird glint in his eyes, “Quite the opposite. It’s my job to keep an eye on _all_ members of the Madej cabal. You, in particular, are of great interest to me. Someone who started off so strong and is now so…”

He waves a hand, “Lax.”

“Um, sorry to disappoint?”

Adamox sighs and goes to his desk, shifts some items on top of it about, “When last you were in the Pit, your tortures left something to be desired. Both Brumon and Baraxese lodged displeasure with your work ethic. Brumon, in particular, labeled your tortures as ‘childish’ and ‘uninspired’.”

“Uninspired!” Shane cries and he’s clearly insulted, “I’ve placed souls in dark rooms where they get up and repeatedly stub their toes on the corner of their beds! I tasked one guy with an eternity of untangling thousands of strings that can _never_ be untangled! I even covered a soul with mosquito bites that will not heal and are infinitely itchy! Uninspired? It’s not _my_ fault Brumon lacks imagination!”

“Oh?”

Shane nods and returns cockily, “I’m just ahead of my time, that’s all. Physical pain? Mental abuse? Those things can be overcome! Endless annoyances? Way worse.”

One of Adamox’s eyebrows rise, “Not just petty?”

Shane runs a finger under his nose as he sniffs, “The ones they gave me deserved what they got. I didn’t see the point in doing the same old, same old. Again, I see a future of unique and unexpected tortures.”

“And what of your actions here?”

Shane gestures to his uniform, “Look, if you have the same problem Wiltharax has-!”

“I do not,” Adamox cuts in before Shane can even make a counter argument, “Honestly, I could care less. My reasons for seeking you out are more to offer counsel then censure.”

“Oh?” Shane offers inelegantly, because he has no idea what to say to that. Not that he needs to. Adamox returns to leaning back on his desk and his eyes fall over some papers there before turning back to Shane, “Have you heard of the Slumber Chambers?”

Another nod, “Everyone has.”

Adamox snatches one of the papers off his desk and offers it to Shane, “I’ve made arrangements for you to have access to them for the foreseeable future.”

Shane takes the paper and looks over it, “O…kay. Why?”

“I think you’re unstimulated,” Adamox offers sagely, “You’ve been awake and active for quite some time and I don’t believe this time period suits you. In fact, none of the ones you’ve suffered through have, and I know you’ve suffered.”

“I-“ Shane starts but Adamox waves an admonishing hand, “Don’t deny it. All members of the cabal have onsets of ennui, but yours seems to have stared since the moment you earned your horns. Despite your words, I sense a lack of pleasure in your tasks. A long sleep will do you a world of good. You’ll awake in another century and try again. Might be you’ve yet to find your niche.”

“Mr. Adamox, I…I don’t know what to say,” his tone would sound empty to anyone who doesn’t know him as well as Ryan does. But Ryan hears it. He hears the distrust, the uncertainty, and he can’t blame the guy. Adamox and his motivations seem shady as fuck. But the eerie demon merely offers a grin, “Think nothing of it. I look out for all member of my cabal.”

Neither Shane nor Ryan miss that. _My_ cabal. Adamox’s definitely views himself as king of the castle. Not that either of them can dispute it. Shane, because he believes it’s true and Ryan, because he can’t say any better. Either way, Shane rises from his seat and leaves and Ryan expects the dream to end there only for Adamox to look right at him again.

“Nothing to say?”

For a split second, Ryan’s terrified, not sure how to respond when suddenly – suddenly he realizes he’s merged with someone else. It’s like when he’s Shane in the dreams, but this time? This time he’s _Raziel_. Raziel, who walks forward all confident and smooth, “Caught sight of me, did you, brother?”

Adamox turns back to the desk, shifting papers about once more as Raziel clasps his hands behind his back and rocks on his heels, “So! You think it’s him?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

Adamox glares at him balefully, “He doesn’t have the temperament.”

“Yet you sent him to the Slumber Chambers,” Raziel remarks brightly as he continues that annoying rocking, “Something I imagine you would only do if you were worried he might be _the_ potential threat.”

Adamox doesn’t look at him, doesn’t rise to the bait, so the angel keeps pushing, “Come, come – I know word reached you. Alys’ prophecy was made ages ago, but it’s only now come to your attention. No doubt you’re interrogating _all_ the level ones?”

“What I do is none of your concern.”

“Hmm, it is when you remember what Father tasked me with.”

“Yes, well, he once tasked me and mine with the sun,” Adamox turns and his face is so blank, his eyes so chilly as to burn, “How shall you feel when I render it to cinders?”

“Ha! As if you had such power,” Raziel chuckles, “Or perhaps you think the one knighted to wipe out your cabal will? I suppose it’s possible…but, keep in mind, whomever he or she is, they’re fated to complete one and only one goal.”

Raziel stops rocking and looks just as deadly, just as dangerous, as he intones, “Your annihilation.”

The demon looks at the doors Shane exited through, “It’s not him.”

Raziel shrugs, “We shall see…”

He turns as if to leave, but stops long enough to shoot over his shoulder, “Regardless, think I’ll keep an eye on this one. It would be such a shame were something to happen to him while he slumbers.”

The angel is met with a stony silence that makes him smile, “That was, I take it, your plan?”

“Get out.” No heat, no passion. Nothing but a warning growl. Raziel grins and disappears in a flash. Ryan wakes in much the same fashion.

 

+

 

“Hey, hey,” is softly crooned and someone is shaking his right shoulder. Ryan opens his eyes and catches sight of Sara in the passenger seat of the car they rented. Her eyes…it’s the first thing he noticed about her. Okay, not true. Actually, it was her height and her hair. But those eyes – so strong and intense. Beautiful. Definitely her most striking feature and even in the shadows of the car he can see the concern there, “Ryan, you okay?”

Ryan makes a sleepy sound as he wakes, “Mm’fine.”

“Eh, you were making some noises in your sleep,” Sara murmurs, “And Mal’s a notorious gossip. He told me all about your Inception connection with Shane. Heh, rhymes…” she grins, amused by that as Ryan rubs at his eyes, “Yeah, was havin’ a dream. S’nothin’.”

“Yeah. Hey, you smell that?” Sara sniffs loudly at the air, then points at him, “It’s bullshit. I smell bullshit.”

Ryan can’t help but grin as a yawn works its way out of him, “God, I can see why he dated you.”

“Aw, thank you!” Sara chuckles and shifts about in her seat, “Jesus – feels like we’ve been here forever. We’re sure this is the spot, right?”

Ryan stretches and nods, “Yeah, William Roberts. Figurehead of a major drug cartel in Atlanta. It’s said this road leads to one of his distribution warehouses.”

“Man, I haven’t been on a stakeout in…? Have I _ever_ been on a stakeout?” Sara’s squints as she thinks, “Maybe. Think I went with one of my friends to see if her husband was cheating on her with his secretary. Turns out, he was cheating on her with the bus boy at their favorite Italian restaurant. But, y’know, she was sleeping with that bus boy too, so…”

Ryan just looks at her and finds he can’t help but smile when she talks. There’s something comforting about Sara – something warm and charming. They didn’t do much talking after Mal informed them about Shane’s next most likely target, they just used a portal and found themselves in the Atlanta airport.

Sara explained it herself in simple terms, “Yeah, I can teleport anywhere I’ve been before. It’s like my body soaks up the area, retains it inside me. Turns me into a walking, talking GPS or something. It’s funny, because I always wanted to travel when I was a kid and now I do – almost too much. Way too much…”

She’d sounded sad at that and he’d wanted to ask her why; but felt like maybe it was prying. After all, they’d just met. Even though it honestly feels as if he’s known her for a longer. Probably because she reminds him so very much of Shane. Still, instead of asking, he rented them a car and they’d ended up here, where exhaustion finally took its toll on him.

Now awake, he’s reconsidering asking her questions, but she beats him to it, “You hungry?”

“I-? What-?”

“We’re on a stakeout, Boogara!”

She knows about ‘Boogara’?

“Can’t have a stakeout without stakeout munchies – hang on,” She exits the car and he watches her whip up another swirling portal. It slides over her and she disappears into thin air. He grips the wheel and sits up, watching the open space she disappeared from for some time. He also makes sure to keep an eye on the road.

He’s not sure what exactly he’ll see that’ll tip him off to either William or Shane’s arrival, but he keeps watching, looking at the road and the dark lumbering warehouses in the distance. He hears a soft swishing and turns to see the portal closing just as Sara gets back into the vehicle with a plastic 7-11 bag. She rummages inside it, “Alright, now we’re talking. I got us some ho-hos, twinkies, jerky, pixie sticks – those are for me –“

“Naturally. You look like a pixie,” Ryan can’t help but chime in and she gives him a saucy grin, “I’ll take that compliment! I got some energy drinks, soda, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand,” she holds up some tickets, “Lottery scratchers! We _could_ make mega millions!”

“We could, but I kinda doubt it…”

“What’s your poison?”

Ryan sighs and his stomach gurgles, reminding him that it really can’t survive on coffee and alcohol alone, “I’ll take some jerky.”

“Good choice!” she hands him a bag of teriyaki and he tears it open while she starts consuming pixie sticks like they’re going out of style. It’s not until she’s through her tenth stick that she sighs and says, “So. Guess it’s time we talk about the elephant in the room. Or, better to say – car.”

Ryan looks at her, waiting patiently, as she gingerly tears open her eleventh stick. She pours some of the sugary contents onto her tongue before replying with a slight mouthful, “No. This isn’t my natural hair color.”

Ryan snorts, because that’s not at all what he was expecting. Sara’s bouncy curls are a bright pink and she’s wearing a sundress with big clunky boots and really, he likes her far more than he thinks is normal for someone he’s only known for – what? A day?

He kind of wants to say as much, but instead lets her talk, “Yeah, no – guess I’ll tackle the hashtag awkward – Shane.”

“Yeah, I know,” Ryan sighs, “You two were a thing.”

“Let me guess – Mal?”

Ryan nods and Sara sighs, “Course.”

“How, um-?” Ryan feels both uncomfortable and excited, he wants to know and doesn’t at the same time, “How long were you two-?”

“On and off?” she wrinkles her nose, “Dunno. ‘Bout half a century?”

Ryan looks so floored Sara can’t help but laugh, “Yeah, I’m pretty up there.”

“B-but you look like…like…”

Sara pretends to pat her hair, “Stop, stop – the flattery is too much for me!”

He just shakes his head and she chews on her bottom lip as she pops open a soda, “Yeah, hybrids are strange. We’re born, and we age up like usual until about our mid-twenties, then it just sorta…curdles.”

“A-A hybrid? Is that what-?”

She sips and bobs her head, “Yeah, there’s a lotta terms for it. Demon/human kids are rarer than rare. I like hybrid. Although I’m pretty sure one of us doesn’t and that’s how that brand of cars got started. Got it stuck in the human mind, so, now when I say it…”

Sara puts the soda can in the cup holder and pushes her back against the seat, “Anyway, Shane and I met at some supernatural mixer. We were both feeling sorta outside of all of it, you know? Anyway, after that…”

She gives him a wistful grin, “He’s a great guy.”

“Yes. He is,” Ryan says softly, then can’t help but add, “He’s also an insufferable asshole.”

The laugh that Sara lets out makes Ryan feel like a shaft of sunlight has entered the car. She hits the dashboard with both hands, “Oh my god – he _totally_ is! He can just be the absolute worst!”

“Can’t believe you put up with him for so long.”

“Like I said, on and off. But never, ever bad,” she shakes her head, her laughter slowly dying out as she tugs her knees up to herself, “Yeah, I mean – we’d argue sometimes. Couples do. But it was never vicious or nasty…just dumb little disagreements. He’s so different from most demons I know. He’s…”

She looks like she’s struggling for the right word and Ryan whispers, “Genuine.”

She gives him a big smile, “That’s it! Genuine,” she hugs her knees tight, “One of a kind.”

“You still love him?” Ryan makes himself ask and she nods, “Yeah. Can’t not. He’s a loveable goof.”

Ryan leaves it at that, but Sara continues, “But hey, when I say on and off I mean like – we would meet up and hang for a couple of years. Do the whole relationshippy thing and then go our separate ways. It was always amicable. He’d go back to sleep or I’d lose contact with him ‘cause I’d be on a job. We both did our own thing…it was all you do you, so, we never had like, a big breakup or something…”

This causes her to look thoughtful and it’s clear she’s talking to herself more than him, “Matter of fact, think the last time I saw him he just said he’d see me around…”

Those words make Ryan choke, “See you around! That’s the last thing that son of a bitch said to me! Oh my god, are you two still-? Am I-?”

Ryan looks close to freaking out and Sara rolls her eyes, nudging him with her whole body, “God, _no_ , Ryan. You’re not the bus boy, alright? Shane and I weren’t an item when you two got attached at the hip. I’ve seen the videos, alright? The YouTube ones?”

This explains her knowing the ‘Boogara’ thing, yet he still regards her with open shock, “You’ve watched the show?”

“Mmhmm, all of it, and trust me, I get it,” she peeks at him out of the corner of her eyes, bow lips in a warm smile, “You two are k-i-ss-ingy.”

He opens his mouth as if to argue, but she cuts him off with a firm headshake, “I don’t take offense to that. I don’t feel like he’s cheating on me or it’s a betrayal or some other soap opera claptrap. We might’ve never had a dramatic parting of ways, but our relationship parameters were always very clear.”

She looks out the windshield at the dark night sky and exhales, “Do I still love him? Yes. I will always love Shane Madej. And in another life, I’m pretty sure he’s my ride or die. But in this one? In this one, I’m pretty sure he’s yours.”

Ryan looks at her and he totally gets it. He was already getting it before now, but now he _completely_ gets it. He gets why Shane loved her too. Probably still loves her, much like she loves him. However, “We…we weren’t ‘k-i-ss-ingy’ when we were doing the show.”

Sara looks beyond amused as Ryan continues to argue with a pout, “We were professionals. I’M a professional.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t say it like that!”

“Like what?” she gasps with mock surprise.

“Like you don’t believe me! When we shot episodes, we were totally just friends and co-workers! That’s it!”

She hums, still side-eyeing him, “Friends and co-workers who shared a jacuzzi?”

Ryan sputters and she lets out a laugh as he scrubs at his face, “He wanted to try it! And it didn’t work! And we were wearing suits!”

“Oh, but sharing a bed?”

“We only had to do that once!” he argues, then thinks about it, “Maybe twice!”

Sara doesn’t add on more until Ryan’s taking big, drawing pulls of his energy drink. Then she comments and goddamn it, he knows she does it on purpose, because she waits until he’s mid gulp before asking, “You sleep with him yet?”

He gags mid drink and she is most certainly part demon because the look on her face is nothing short of pure glee at his struggle, “I don’t normally go for TMI, but in this instance…”

He gasps and tries to collect his breath even as she collapses into giggles. He flips her his middle finger and she pretends to bite it off. Once somewhat collected, he wheezes, “No.”

“No?” she sucks in at that and offers him the most salacious smile, “Well then, you’re in for a treat, pal! Because, again, normally don’t TMI, but he does this thing with his hips…”

“Stop,” Ryan begs, chuckling, but she’s having too much fun, “How do you think my hair got this curly?”

“Oh my god!” he manages before they both succumb to a sea of laughter. They laugh for quite awhile and when it finally dies down Sara clicks on the radio, scanning through the channels, “You mind?”

“Nah, go for it,” Ryan murmurs and he realizes with some surprise that this is the most fun he’s had in a long time. It’s nice. To have someone to talk to again. Especially someone who can make him laugh, someone who reminds him of Shane. He thought it might hurt, but it doesn’t. if anything, it feels as reaffirming as the conformation of the clues. It’s like a sign, telling him he’s doing the right thing.

He’s meant to do this, he’s meant to find Shane, he’s meant to bring him home. Hell, in a way, he’s been preparing for this, hasn’t it? Hunting ghosts –  demons –  it’s what he’s done for years now. It’s just that in this case it has more meaning, more weight. It’s real. It’s not just for the show, for work, for fun.

Everything he’s done before now has been leading to this. Those were trial runs, fake chases, but this? This is the real deal. Some punk song plays at a low-key volume as Sara looks at Ryan thoughtfully. Her voice is very gentle as she asks, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He makes a questioning sound and she pokes a quick finger into one of his cheeks, “You need a shave.”

He thinks back to one of his last conversations with Shane. Scratchy kisses. He runs a hand over his stubble and exhales, “Yeah. I know.”

“Bags under your eyes too.”

“You know about the dreams.”

“I do,” she looks out of the windshield again, eyes going to the sky once more, “Like I said, Shane and me always kept it super caj,” her shortage of ‘casual’ makes him look at her with a smile even as she goes on, “He’d take me on the occasional lucid dream, but it’s nothing like what you’re experiencing. And we never talked about bonding. I kind of have my eternity planned out, with me and my ten dogs and all…”

“Eternity?”

She shrugs, “Mean, I’ll probably age and die at some point. But it’ll be long after-” she cuts off and looks at him, looking slightly flabbergasted, “Oh. Shit. Uh…”

Ryan just shakes his head, “Hey, I get it. I’m just the human. I got a ticking time clock on me.”

“Great. Now I feel like crap.”

“Don’t,” Ryan says sincerely, “Seriously. Sara, you’re like – the first person I’ve been around since this shitstorm started that makes me feel…better. Like…like maybe everything can be okay…”

“Awwww, Ryan!” her voice gets adorably high pitched and she opens her arms, “This calls for hugs!”

He agrees and gives it to her and it’s nice. Very nice. Which is, naturally, when everything shifts, the music on the radio…morphing. The song currently playing suddenly gives way to squeals. Ryan draws back from the hug, hands going to his ears and Sara hisses, her face screwing up with discomfort. The noisy interference on the radio turns to static and Ryan watches as the numbers on the screen flash, changing, scrolling like mad.

It’s as if the radio is possessed and suddenly it clicks to a stop, lyrics warbling out of the speakers, “…  
_but you really don't remember, was it something that they said? Are the voices in your head calling, Gloriaaaaaa_ ….”

“He’s here,” Ryan says breathlessly, anxiety and excitement rolling around inside of him as he struggles to get out of the car as quickly as possible. Sara is nonplussed, “How do you-?”

“I just know,” Ryan spits because he’s in a hurry. This is the closest he’s ever come! If he can just _see_ Shane…

Once he’s on the street he hears tiny pops in the distance and he knows what they are. Gunshots. It freezes him in place for a moment because, holy shit. Guns. Bullets. Death. Yeah…

…the ticking time clock human…

Sara comes around and walks in front of him, she looks a little more confident, but just as cautious, “Come on. Follow me.”

“You bullet proof?”

She shrugs, “In a manner of speaking…”

“Crap! Really?”

She doesn’t say more, just moves forward on stealthy little legs and he follows. They reach a tall fence and she does a swift gesture that releases a tiny sliver of a portal. It cuts right through the fence, making a sizeable gap for them to cross through. Ryan’s eyes go big. She gives him a sheepish grin, “Yeah, misplaced portals can cause all kinds of damage.”

“That’s…whoa…”

“It’s useful on jobs.”

“Okay, what exactly _is_ your job?”

This gets a groan and her head tips back for a moment, “I mean, basically just what Malthazor told you. Portal Jockey. I get paid a hefty fee to take people, demons, what-have-yous where they want to go. Sometimes I help them out on whatever missions they have. That sort of thing.”

“So, what? Like supernatural espionage?”

“ _That_ makes it sound cool,” Sara grumbles, “For me, it’s more like being an uber driver. It sucks.”

They work their way through the opening and enter the warehouse lot. They move with quiet steps but the gunfire…it’s growing in volume. Intensity. Ryan feels a sweat break out, palms clammy, so he tries to keep himself calm through talking, “Yeah, when you mentioned what you could do earlier you seemed…sad.”

“Not sad so much as done. I need a career change,” she looks over at him with a bright grin, “That’s where you come in.”

He points to himself, “Me?”

Sara nods, bright curls bouncing, “Yeah, I volunteered to do this to help Shane. I mean, of course I did! But, there _is_ a little something you can do for me.”

Ryan frowns, wondering what the hell that is. He highly doubts she means money – she doesn’t seem the type for that. So, what else can he possibly do? He’s just about to ask when Sara holds up an arm, halting his movements. She looks over at him thoughtfully, “You squeamish?”

“Uh, depends?”

“Yeah, me too,” she murmurs, “But mean, can’t say this is the first dismembered arm I’ve seen…”

He looks around her and yup. That’s an arm alright. It lays on the ground at her feet and it’s still holding a gun, a pool of blood beneath it. His stomach does rumble a bit (damn jerky) but he’s…oh dear god, he’s actually starting to get used to this? What the fuck, Shane? And yes, he’ll think of it that way, because this _is_ Shane’s fault.

Inducting Ryan into this whole weird world, making him more of a detective than he ever thought he’d be. Well, cops are probably used to this sort of thing and supernaturals even more so. Guess Ryan’s some funny place in between. An internet video producer with a stomach that’s slowly becoming steel. They side step the arm and keep going.

The action is getting really loud now – screams and shouts, someone giving orders. The gunfire is rampant and there’s something else. The leathery sound of wings and this unearthly sort of howl and Ryan recognizes that exactly for what it is. His heart is in his throat and he has to restrain himself from running forward because it’s _Shane_.

Shane is _here_ and he’s so goddamn _close_. Closer than he’s ever been. Sara puts a finger to her lips and he nods. Quiet. They have to be quiet. They peek around the corner of the door they’ve come to. They peer into one of the big warehouses. It’s a classic representation – big wooden boxes and crates everywhere, huge florescent lights hanging overhead, big lumbering machines used in construction….

Pretty much every shooter game and action film Ryan’s ever seen is laid out before him. But there’s a twist here, because demons are crawling all over the place. A mix of wings and horns are on display, but there are a few who don’t have such features.  They look wildly all around them and then one gets scooped upwards in a flash.

Whatever it is (no doubt Shane) moves out from the shadows above so quickly as to be unseen and then just…a shower of blood rains down from that spot. The shooters aim there, but they don’t seem to hit a goddamn thing and then another guy disappears – but this time in a snapping burst. His energy flows up into the rafters, probably absorbed into Shane and Jesus, he’s really cutting through them quick.

Ryan is trying to catch sight of him when suddenly someone cuts around a corner and sees them. The guy draws his gun, aims it, and Ryan is not completely unconvinced he’s not going to piss himself because _gun_. Gun in his face! His eyes squeeze shut tight and he tenses as the gun fires and-! Nothing?

He pops his eyes open and the guy who shot at them is dead at their feet. Sara has her hands up. Another set of shooters must have heard or seen the first guy and they all turn in unison, opening fire at them, but Sara just does a quick hand movement and a large circular disc forms in front of them, covering them like a shield.

The bullets hit the shield and ricochet back to their points of origin. The shooters. The bullets they fire return and hit them, take them out and Sara scowls. Ryan looks at her in total reverence, “How-?”

“This portal is reflective, like a mirror. It bounces anything they throw at us back at them,” she clears her throat and shakes her head, “Hey, someone tries to kill me, I’m gonna kill ‘em right back.”

“Firefly?”

“You know it,” she grins, “But seriously, I’m not doing anything. If they just stopped firing, they’d be fine.”

“Pull the trigger, pay the price,” he agrees, and their attackers are obviously not getting that message as they continue to fire. At least until another one of them is yanked back into the shadows. A loud voice booms out, “Forget about those two! _MADEJ_! Get Madej!”

Ryan catches sight of an overly tattooed guy on a catwalk above. He’s surrounded by a thick group of burly looking guys and Sara remarks, “Final boss?”

He just nods, “Mr. Roberts, no doubt.”

“So? What’s the plan?”

Ryan opens his mouth to say when suddenly he hears a click behind him. He turns and one of the shooters managed to sneak up behind them. The guy’s got his gun pointed and ready to fire, but Sara’s still holding the one shield. Ryan’s not sure she’s noticed this guy; not sure she can even hold two shields at once.

Ryan doesn’t know what the fuck to do when suddenly a low growl fills the air. The guy in front of Ryan seizes, drops his gun. His eyes bulge and he starts clawing at his neck and that’s when Ryan sees the hand wrapped around his throat. Red eyes glow in the shadowy recesses behind the guy and then Shane steps forward. He comes just that little bit into the light and he’s…different.

It feels like ages since Ryan last saw him face to face. Truthfully, it’s probably only been a few weeks and yet…

Shane is different.

His horns are bigger, more curved. Same for his wings, the bony protrusions looking sharper, fiercer. Everything is deep, deep indigo, the red long gone. Shadows. It’s like he’s merged with them. Save his eyes. They were black once, but now they burn blood red. They stare out at nothing. His face is so dead. So masklike. So unlike him.

Ryan doesn’t remember his ears looking so long and pointed either. Legolas ears. He wants to joke about that, but nothing is funny right now. Not with Shane looking so unnervingly robotic. Not when he’s holding a guy by his throat and Ryan just breathes, “Shane…”

Shane lowers the guy and his other hand rises up. One quick, smooth motion and he’s broken the shooter’s neck. The shooter crumples to the ground. Dead. Ryan looks at the body, then to Shane who seems to melt back into the shadows.

Sara only caught bits and pieces of the moment, her shield still up, but she grasps one of Ryan’s hands with her free one, “Got an idea. Hang on.”

She does a quick movement and suddenly the shield shifts, the backside…opening. She drags Ryan forward and they step through the swirling, sparking portal. They end up right behind William Roberts. His bodyguards turn on them and Sara uses herself to block Ryan, to push him back. He wants to ask her what the hell kind of plan _this_ is, but it suddenly becomes very clear, very quickly.

Because Shane followed them. Ryan knows this the moment one of the bodyguard’s just…seizes. He seizes and snaps, his energy rushing out of him and Sara gasps, “At will…”

“What?”

She turns and looks at him, “Shane can smite at will. Snap his fingers and take energies. I’ve…I’ve heard of it, but I didn’t think it was possible…”

Several of the bodyguards collapse this way and William is shaking in his boots as he watches his defense team crumble around him. Once he’s alone, he glares around himself, “Can’t take me out like that, huh? Huh, you coward! Show your fucking face!”

Shane doesn’t. William seems to finally recognize that Sara and Ryan are there, and he picks up one of the discarded guns. He charges forward, weapon raised, “I’ll take out your girl, you clown! Your boy! I’ll kill ‘em both!”

“Hey! You’re not going to do shit!” Sara returns, sounding brave despite the waver to her voice, “You want to deal with me, deal with me like a man! Any idiot can pull a trigger! Let’s see you come at me with a mace, tough guy! An axe! Come on!”

“What are you doing!?” Ryan cries on a high pitch and she grins, “Just having a bit of fun. Come on, give it a shot. It’ll make you feel better.”

Ryan has no idea why on earth he agrees with her, why he does it too, but he does, “Y-Yeah, jackass! Why don’t you-you draw out some ninja stars! A katana! Something that takes skill!”

“Nice,” Sara returns approvingly, and William regards them with big bug eyes, “You two are crazy!”

“No, we’re distracting,” Sara returns and raises one finger to point behind him. William turns, and Shane is there. Ryan didn’t see Shane appear. Neither did William, obviously, and he lets out a sharp, painful gurgle as one of Shane’s clawed hands whips forward hard, driving right into his center mass. The claws are strong, they go deep, and Ryan’s only slightly convinced he sees them come out the other side, out through William’s _spine_.

Just the tips. Maybe. He’s not sure. He doesn’t _want_ to be sure. All he knows is William’s body falls down and energy seeps out of it. It flows up and into Shane, going right through his mouth and it’s as if his friend is breathing fire, bright white smoke curling around his lips.

Sara shivers as she looks at him, “Shane?”

Much like with Ryan, he doesn’t respond, doesn’t do anything. No recognition floods his face. No emotion. She turns to Ryan, “Try again.”

“I…” Ryan trails off but steps forward. This is it. This is what he’s been waiting for. He moves towards Shane and Shane just stands there. Save for the slight head tilt and at that’s when Ryan loses it, “Don’t-! Don’t pull that Michael Myers shit on me, man!”

Shane doesn’t even blink. Ryan glares at him, hands bawling into fists, “It’s me, Shane. It’s _Ryan_.”

Nothing. Ryan swallows thickly and he continues forward. Sara lets out a distressed sound, reaches out as if to stop him, but then draws her hand back as if she knows better. He needs to do this. He _has_ to do this. Ryan edges ever closer, sneakers making no sound as they push past the heap that was once William’s host.

He’s in Shane’s personal space and Shane seems so much bigger, so much taller. He’s all demon and darkness. His wings are fully expanded, his eyes hot embers. Much like Ryan, he’s grown facial hair. He’s still garbed in the last thing he wore. Jean jacket, skinny jeans, boots, and some throwaway shirt. Ryan sees it all and finds he’s beyond furious. He’s not scared. Just pissed and it comes out in snarl, “You’re a son of a bitch, you know that?”

Another head tilt.

“You left me, you ‘sacrificed’ yourself and to do what? This?” Ryan waves around himself, “Who gives a shit about this!”

The demon doesn’t look around, but Ryan knows he’s listening and he grumbles, “Not you, that’s for damn sure! Not Shane Madej! The _real_ Shane Madej. The _real_ Shane doesn’t give two shits about power grabs and vendettas! The only crap he cares about is, like, squeaky shoes and good food! Writing shitty stories that make no goddamn sense and shooting holes through conspiracy theories and-and-and-!”

Ryan hates how his voice breaks, “Me…I-I think he cares about me.”

And this…this is when Shane seems to react. _Actually_ react. Because there’s a…ripple. A shudder through his face, the shadows shifting, and Ryan sees it, clings to it. He moves close enough to feel Shane’s breath on his face, to feel the heat of him, “I know you’re in there. The real you. You gotta be…and…and,” he rubs at his face, finds he’s trembling as he whispers, “You…you gotta come home. Please…just…”

Shane’s right hand rises. It rises and hovers near Ryan’s face. It hovers there as if to touch him. Then William’s cell phone rings in his pocket. The moment is shattered. Shane draws back and his wings surge, they propel him upwards and he’s gone in an instant.

Ryan curses, crumpling some, knees weak. He hunches over, breathless and broken, and that stupid fucking cell phone continues to chime. Growling, Ryan goes to William’s body. He fishes out the cell and then with an aggravated cry chucks the demon’s corpse off the catwalk. He stands there, huffing and puffing from exertion.

Sara comes closer, tone sympathetic, “Ry…”

He doesn’t answer. He looks at the cell. The bright screen reads ‘Adamox’. He glares at it before pitching the phone off into the far distance. Sara exhales and he hears the soft snap, crackle, pop of her opening a portal, “Ready?”

He just nods and follows her through the opening.


	4. Chapter 4

**DiscordChannel/IDK BFU BOYS**

 

appletatersprecious (Devon) – y’all hear about this shadow beast?

queenie – ugh. no shadow crap!

Missyb – ya, that shit is everywhere. reddit, tumblr – everyone’s picking that up. Might be real. A new cryptid – wooooooot.

queenie – more like a whole load of crap! Got to run, dinner’s callin’

Missyb – bye, ttyl

appletatersprecious (Devon) – see ya, ali. But srsly, shadow beast’s been spotted in DC, Wichita, Portland, Atlanta…

Plaiddemon – is it a cryptid? Or is it more like slenderman? Is slenderman a cryptid???

gghost62 – cryptid is…another word for creepy?

Missyb – more like a supernatural animal – like lochness

gghost62 – Oh! Her! Yeah, okay.

Plaiddemon – lol – yeah, nessie is a straight up lady.

gghost62 – You guys should just ignore that shadow beast stuff.

appletatersprecious (Devon) – surprised you’d say that, gladys – thought you were a Boogara?

gghost62 – Yeah, but some things shouldn’t be messed with. The Void is one of them.

Missyb- ??? Void?

appletatersprecious (Devon) – haven’t heard that name for it.

gghost62 – Oh. I did. Somewhere. On the internet. I think. Never mind, just forget it.

appletatersprecious (Devon) – Void is a much better name than ‘shadow beast’. Maybe the boys’ll investigate it later this season?

Missyb – doubtful. They do older stuff. Shadowb is too new.

Plaiddemon – agreed.

gghost62 – I’m thinking of drawing art.

Missyb – lol, subject change!

Plaiddemon –  You should! Total support here!

gghost62 – I’m kind of nervous about it though. I mean, I’m really out of practice. Death will do that to you.

Missyb- OMG

appletatersprecious (Devon) – you are the ultimate rp person, gg. Bet you do mean cosplays too.

gghost62 – I see more words for me to look up later (eyes emoji)

Missyb – At least you’re getting a good hold on emojis!

gghost62 – I’m doing my best. Do you all have any suggestions for drawing materials I should use? Preferably ones that would be easy to use if I were, say, occasionally incorporeal.

Plaiddemon – So, like – a touch screen? But maybe one that would pick up impressions no matter how light the touch?

gghost62 – Oh, yes! That sounds great! Go on…

 

+

 

“So, it’s come to my attention that you don’t have a plan,” Sara offers crisply as she enters the living room.

Ryan groans and sits up straighter on his couch. They’re in his apartment, which is an absolute wreck. He hasn’t spent much time here since everything happened, only popping in and out for clothes, equipment, and the occasional bout of research.

That’s what he’s been doing. Research. Mal managed to get his laptop equipped with access to the spectral web, and he spent most of last night and the wee hours of this morning looking for something, anything, that might help him. He let Sara sleep in his room and she looks nicely refreshed. He does not.

Mainly because he hasn’t really slept. Ryan’s discovering sleep to be more of a hinderance than a respite. Probably because every time he closes his eyes, every time, he finds himself in one of Shane’s past shenanigans. Yeah, they’re informative, but they’re also a constant reminder of what he’s missing. And the recent events in Atlanta did _not_ help.

Ryan doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the look on Shane’s face. That moment where he looked like he recognized Ryan, like he knew him, like he was actually _there_. Because when he first saw him…god, it was like seeing a shell. A soulless imposter with his best friend’s face. It was like…like Shane _died_. Died and some horror was wearing his corpse, walking around in it. Ryan shudders.

Sara pokes him. Hard. He scowls up at her, “What?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes!” he mutters, then shakes his head as if to clear it, “What was the question?”

“The-?” she expels a deep puff of air and the curls brushing her forehead go flying, “Seriously, little guy, you _need_ sleepy time!”

“Little guy? I’m _taller_ than you!”

“But littler than most guys I know, thus ‘little guy’.”

He glares at her but doesn’t know if he manages to pull off looking angry. He’s pretty sure his eyes are glassy from exhaustion. Glassy and dry and he blinks them repeatedly to try and get some moisture back.

She flops down on the couch next to him, “Look, what did you think was gonna happen back there, huh? Did you think Shane would just see you and some romantic ballad would swell in the background? Some Celine Dion or Adele song and you’d just fall into one another’s arms?”

“…that’s not what I thought,” he grumbles under his breath and if his tone is sheepish, maybe that’s because that’s kind of what he pictured. Maybe. A little bit. “But I did think if we saw one another we could, I dunno, talk it out or something. I thought I could reach him.”

Sara props up one arm on the armrest near her. She rests her face in her hand as she eyes him, “I guess this is just as much my bad as yours. I mean, I should’ve asked you what your plan was. I usually do when I take a job like this.”

“You’ve taken jobs like this before?”

“I’ve transported hunters before, yeah,” Sara murmurs, “Though when I transport them, they’ve only got one plan in mind.”

“Which is?”

She shrugs, “Take out the target.”

Ryan is floored, “You think I should kill him?”

“God, no, Ryan,” Sara’s tone shows how disgusted she is at that idea, “I’m saying that the hunters I’ve jockeyed for were taking out dangerous threats. Demons and supernatural creatures that’ve gone feral.”

“Shane is not feral!” Ryan cuts in and the glare she shoots him is so cutting he feels as if she’s poked him again but much harder, “I know he’s not. Don’t forget – I was there too. He was far too calm, too collected to be feral. He was…cold. Not himself. Possessed.”

“You think the Void is possessing him too?” Ryan asks hopefully, “Mal and everyone else I’ve talked to says they’re one and the same, but I’ve always thought-“

“They are and they aren’t,” Sara cuts in before he can get too worked up, “I think they’re one, but not necessarily the same. I think the Void is driving on Shane’s deeper, darker instincts. After all, he _is_ a demon. He has the natural capacity to be nasty, but with the Void inside him, he’s lost his impulse control.”

Ryan’s starts chewing on his fingernails at this, nodding at her words and she smacks at his hands, “Stop that.”

He takes the almost maternal scolding with a frown, “Sorry, thinking.”

“You can do that without your fingers in your mouth.”

“Yes, Mommy,” he returns jokingly and she gives a him a fake ‘hur hur hur’ laugh before remarking, “That’s my whole point though. You’re not thinking. You’re run down, man. You’re at your breaking point. You need a plan.”

“Fuck, I _know_ ,” he groans and hunches over, resting his arms on his legs as he presses his hands to his eyes, “I know I need a plan, Sara. But I don’t know what to do. I had hoped seeing me would…? But that didn’t work, so now what? It’s not like I can perform an exorcism on him. He’s already a demon and he’s not in a host. And the Void isn’t really hosted inside him, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” she returns firmly, “Not in the way where an exorcism would work.”

He groans again and flops back dramatically, neck resting against the back of the couch, eyes up on the ceiling, “So, again, what the fuck am I supposed to do? What kind of plan can I even have?”

They sit there in silence and at first, Ryan doesn’t notice it. Doesn’t notice the…tenseness. But then his gaze shifts over and he sees Sara is watching him. Her eyes are so stark, pupils so fixed on him as to make him squirm, “What?”

She doesn’t say a word. She just keeps staring at him. He rubs at one shoulder, suddenly self-conscious, “Sara? What-?”

Finally she blinks and she lets out a breath, “I…I have an idea.”

“You do?”

She nods and she looks like she’s swallowed a bug. Like she’s very unhappy. She closes her eyes and shakes her head. She presses her fingertips to her temples, “It’s a bad idea though. A terrible one, really. Mean, if it doesn’t work…”

“What is it?” Ryan asks and he’s eager, excited, firm. He wants to hear this idea. He doesn’t care what it is. If it could work…

She lowers her fingers and looks at him, “I like you, Ryan.”

It’s a bald statement, one that kind of strikes him as odd, “Um…I like you too?”

“Yeah, so, y’know, liking you and how I feel about Shane, this is...it’s a little awkward for me to suggest this plan. I mean, I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want _Shane_ to get hurt. And if this doesn’t work…”

“Jesus Christ, Sara, what’s the fucking idea? Just tell me already!” he doesn’t mean to get so snappish, but the lack of good sleep is really catching up with him. He’s on edge and he can’t take this kind of baiting. He knows that’s not what she’s doing, but it feels like it. He feels worse when she sort of shrinks in on herself at his tone and he gets to his feet with a hefty sigh, “Hey, I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” she returns softly and she looks up at him, her face so gentle, “Wish you could catch some decent ‘z’s. You _should_ catch some before I suggest this.”

She gets to her feet as well, faces him full on, “I don’t want you taking this option out of some kind of fatigued desperation. If you chose to go down this road, you should choose it with a clear head. It’s not good to make rash decisions.”

“Sara…” he starts and she must know he’s getting fed up again because she blurts, “Soul fracture.”

Ryan is drawn up short by that, “Wh-? What is that? Some band name? Indie group? Supernatural faction?”

“No,” her eyes go downcast, as if she can’t look at him when she talks about it. She’s wearing a jacket and her hands disappear into the pockets, she rocks on her boots, looking skittish, “It’s…it’s what my folks did. My mom…she wanted a kid pretty badly. Weird for a demon, yeah, but she wanted one.”

He’s not sure where this is going, but he forces himself to be patient, recognizing that this is obviously difficult for her to talk about, “Anyway, she and my dad had bonded but she still faced, y’know, the struggle. No baby. Her and Dad aging, reaching the finish line…so, someone suggested soul fracturing. It’s a dangerous procedure. Not common.”

She looks up at him and shrugs, “But, they were both willing to take the risk.”

“What’s…what’s soul fracturing?”

“Like a bond, but more severe.”

Ryan’s head rears back at that, because as far as he’s concerned, the ramifications of bonding alone seem severe. Sara’s lips twist up to one side, “When you bond, it’s like getting married. Soul fracturing…it’s when a human has their soul fractured in two and they give one half of it to someone. Usually their bondmate.”

The sound that leaves Ryan makes it sound like someone’s knocked the air out of him. One loud whoosh. Sara nods, “Yeah. Takes soul mates to a whole other level, doesn’t it?”

“You…? Your dad gave your mom half of his soul?”

Another nod, “And it worked. Beautifully. My mom became just that little bit more human, my dad that little bit more demonic. They had me. Their aging slowed, they’re happy and disgustingly in love with one another. It all worked out.”

“Yeah?” he asks but she holds up a finger in his face before he can start, “But that’s rare, Ry. That’s like – like if we’d hit the mega millions back in Atlanta. Soul fracturing can go horribly wrong. Have horrible side effects. First off, most humans die undergoing the procedure to have their soul fractured to begin with. Second, sometimes the demon rejects it – my parents were wild, crazy sons of bitches who just happened to make it work.”

“I see,” Ryan’s tone is coolly neutral but Sara doesn’t buy it for a second, “No, you don’t. It’s your _soul_ , Ryan. It’s your golden ticket past the pearly gates.”

“You don’t know I’m going to heaven.”

The look she shoots him makes him snort, “You _don’t_.”

“Dude, I’ve only known you for like, two days and yeah, you’re going. No questions asked.”

He throws his hands up, “Why is everyone trying to make me out to be this-this saint or something? This angel with sunshine coming out of his ass, huh? I’m just as fucked up and awful as any other member of the fucking human race! What? I got to be all Ricky Goldsworth twenty-four seven or something to prove it?”

“Ricky?”

“Haven’t watched those yet? It’s this stupid persona I put on,” Ryan grumbles, “It’s me but like, as a master criminal. People love it. Even Shane.”

Sara looks unimpressed, “Alright, but that’s an act. Overall, you’re a good guy, Bergara. That’s _not_ a bad thing! Trust me, I’ve been around a long time. You’re not perfect, but you’re not a patch on the types I’ve met who take the big trip downstairs and you _don’t_ want to go there.”

Ryan closes his eyes and shakes his head and god, he’s so _tired_. If only he could sleep…

Sara takes one hand from her pocket, touches his shoulder, “Hey, hey…I know you love him.”

“I never said-!”

“Please,” she whines, “Don’t do the stupid boy thing.”

“I’m not!”

“Ryan…”

“I’m not, I’m just saying I never said…I never told him…” he struggles here and she takes the other hand out, grips both his shoulders, “Okay. Got it. You’re saving it. Understood. But what I’m suggesting…it’s serious, Ryan. It’s life changing.”

He eases away from her hands with the world’s most bitter laugh. He walks around in a weary little circle, one hand swiping down the lower half of his face, “Life changing? Yeah, that’s all that fucking bobblehead’s ever done for me. He changed my life the moment he walked into on those ridiculous legs of his. That stupid huge head like a coconut on a toothpick…”

Her eyebrows rise at that and he knows it’s not his best analogy, but fuck, he is run down. He looks at her and sighs, “My life’s already changed, Sara. This’ll just be another drop in the bucket or…or…what’s a good saying?”

Her eyes roll up hard, “Christ, you need sleep. Come on…”

She pushes him towards his bedroom. He tries to protest, but it’s all feeble. He collapses on the mattress and his eyes are so, so heavy. She perches down near him, runs her fingers lightly along his forehead, “Can’t stop the dreams, but maybe I can nudge them towards something nice…”

Ryan’s brows draw together, an adorable notch forming between his eyes, “You-? How-?”

“Portals are my main bag, but I do have some other tricks up my sleeve,” she rises up just enough to plant a sweet kiss on the top of his head. A warmth curls from the spot she touched and as she whispers ‘sweet dreams’, Ryan nods off.

 

+

Well.

This is different.

He’s _Sara_.

Ryan did not expect this in his dreams, but here he is. _Sara_. Siting at a kitchen table that looks like it’s from the 1960s. She’s a couple spoonfuls into her cereal, Shane sitting across from her. He’s rifling through a newspaper but suddenly groans, tossing it up on the surface between them. She looks at him with a frown, “Something wrong?”

“This damn war...”

“Which one?”

“Exactly!” he slaps a hand on the table, making her cat jump. The little beast saunters off and Sara sighs, “Vietnam?”

“Yeah, this time,” he grunts, rubbing at his mustache and oh boy, does she hate that mustache. Sara pushes her bowl aside, “Well, what do you expect? It’s a human thing.”

“Sure, but they’re just – relentless. I feel like we have less wars down below and _that’s_ saying a lot,” he scratches at the back of his head, “I already had to sit through World War II and now this…”

“Have to admit, every now and then, I miss the twenties. They _were_ roaring,” she chuckles and he gives her a wink, “That was when we met.”

“Mmm, good times,” Sara crosses her arms and looks at him and she just _knows_ , “You’re going back, aren’t you?”

Shane’s picked the paper back up and he’s got it half open, face blank, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Sara sighs, “Yes you do. You’re going back to the slumber chambers.”

He doesn’t answer right away, but she can see her name right on the tip of his tongue. Either to refute or agree, she doesn’t know, she just cuts in with, “Time for another loooooooooooong nap.”

“Babe, if you don’t want me to go…”

She waves one hand, “No, no. We don’t work like that. You know we don’t work like that.”

He puts the paper down and gets up from the table. He walks over towards her and crouches down. It’s always funny to see him do this. Long legs bending beneath his wire thin body as he gets down to her current eyelevel, “Sara…”

Her whole face sort of twitches, “It’s still not right.”

“What is?”

She looks at him, loves him. She takes his face in her hands, “The time. It’s just not right for you.”

He takes her hands and kisses them, “The time is always right when I’m with you.”

“Ugh! So romantic!” she moans but she smiles and kisses him and he kisses right back. But his legs can’t hold the position well and he nearly tumbles backwards. Sara laughs and draws back, swatting at him, “Stand up, ya beanstalk.”

“As my lady wishes,” he rises up, but one of his hands runs over her hair, plays with the curls. She looks up at him and can’t help herself, “I mean it though. You’re missing something.”

“Balderdash,” he boops the tip of her nose, “You’re all I need.”

“Hey, I’m not putting myself down,” Sara argues, “I _know_ I help you. You’d be half a demon without me, but you’re,” she struggles for a moment before finding the right word, “Incomplete.”

“Again I say, pure balderdash, m’dear.”

“Stop trying to be all fancy,” it leaves her in a laugh but she doesn’t feel particularly lighthearted. She feels serious. She feels like this is important and he needs to know this, “Shane…”

“Sara.”

“Shane, I’m important to you. I add to your life. I make it fuller. But it’s not _whole_. You’re looking for something. Or someone. You’re missing it and it’s…it’s not right yet. _That’s_ what I mean when I say this time isn’t right for you.”

He looks down at her and she takes his hand in hers. She kisses it and holds it close to her face. She loves him. She really, truly does. But she knows what she just said is the god’s honest truth. He squeezes her hand, “I love you.”

“I know you do.”

“I…I can’t imagine anything…anyone...”

The look she shoots up to him is priceless, “I just told you. You haven’t found it yet. Or them. Wrong place, wrong time. Maybe later.”

Shane smirks down at her, “You sound like a fortune cookie.”

“Or a magic eight ball?”

“Want me to shake them curls and see?” he runs his free hand along her hair again and she laughs up at him. He squeezes her hand again, “You know, you’re too damned smart for me.”

“I’m too damned everything for you.”

This gets a loud laugh, “Yeah, yeah – you’re right about that one…”

She casts her eyes up to him again and reaches up as high as she can towards his face, “I suggest you get rid of that first. Don’t want to meet your future with that atrocity on your lip…”

“Hey! I _like_ this mustache!”

“Uh huh, sure. Say, can you repeat that? That hairy caterpillar is muffling your words…”

“I’ll show you muffled words,” Shane cries and scoops her up into his arms. She giggles and wraps her arms around his neck as he takes her back to her bedroom, his intentions clear.

 

+

 

“What did you do last night?”

Frankly, Ryan’s proud of himself for waiting this long to ask the question that’s been plaguing him all morning. He and Sara are on the elevator ride down to Doctor Qyrora’s office and since waking up from the dream, he’s wanted to ask, but made himself wait. Made himself wait for a variety of reasons, but number one being the awkwardness of it.

Sara, however, seems unmoved, “What? The dream?”

At his nod her face scrunches up, nose wrinkling, “It’s kind of hard to explain. It’s like…I can sort of insert myself subconsciously into someone’s mind? With you, I tried to pass one of my better memories on. I thought about it, remembered it, inserted it into your dreams.”

He shakes his head now and she looks a little sheepish, “Look, you’re cursed in some way. You keep having these memory dream/nightmares every night. They’re centered around Shane, they drain you…I thought a change of perspective might help. Heck, I made sure to cut off my memory before the uh, saucy bits.”

Ryan eyes her, “Yeah, noticed a sort of ‘fade to black’ when he swept you off to the bedroom.”

She can’t help the grin, rocking on her feet a little, “See? Spared you that. Although, you might’ve gotten to see the hips thing if I’d just-!”

“Yeah, no, thanks-thanks for cutting it there,” he wheezes and she sighs, one hand rifling through her mop of curls, “Anyway, seems to have helped.”

Ryan can’t disagree. After the ‘fade to black’ he had had no dreams. It was if his mind had finally chosen to give him a break. A real rest. It had been nice. Refreshing. So much so that he’d had a level enough head to finally make his decision regarding a soul fracture. Not that there was any other decision to make, at least as far as he’s concerned.

Still, he needed it to convince Sara, hence there being here. Still…

Sara’s eyes catch his and she frowns, “What?”

He hums and she gestures to him, “You’re making a face.”

“No…”

“Oh, yes you are,” she turn to him, arms crossed, “Come on. Out with it, Bergara.”

He sighs and scratches at the back of his head, “I don’t know. I just…? I guess I feel guilty.”

Her eyebrows knit together in confusion and Ryan waves a hand, doing his best to be flippant, “I mean, from what I saw, you’re in love with Shane, he’s in love with you…”

 “ _Oh my god_ ,” she moans heartfully, rolling her eyes, “I thought we weren’t going to do this thing.”

This gets rapid blinking and an expression of pure confusion, “What thing?”

Sara breathes in deep and places both her hands firmly on Ryan’s shoulders, “Ryan, look into my eyes.”

He does (albeit still unclear as to _why_ ).

“I, Sara Rubin, am not a passive aggressive person.”

“I’m not-! I didn’t sa-!”

“Shush, shush,” she hushes him, “This is super important! Listen! Keep the eye contact!”

She points to her eyes with two fingers and he can’t help but snort and he must look away a _little_ , because she lightly smacks one cheek, steering him back to the full eye contact, “I did not pass that memory on to you to make you feel bad. I chose that memory for a very, very specific reason.”

His head rears back a little, ”And that is…?”

An aggravated sound (that is inexplicably adorable) leaves her, “God, you’re dense!”

Ryan objects with a ‘Hey!’ and he’d add more but she draws her hands back from his shoulders, waving them, “Makes sense, really. For all his talk of ‘intellectualizing’ and ‘logic’, Shane can be just as short sighted. The memory was about how the big guy was missing something. Or more accurately someone.”

Sara takes his shoulders again and does her best to shake him like a rag doll, “You! He was missing you!”

Ryan rocks a little under her attempts and can’t help but smile, because – well – because she’s so…so _Sara_ , “Alright, alright. I get it.”

“Do you?” she asks incredulously and he feasts on his lips some, “Well, I mean…I guess? I…I still feel like…? You and Shane love one another…”

“We do! I told you that! We always will, but it’s…” she lets out a breath and tips her head back, eyes going heavenwards, “…it’s not that it’s not _enough_. But there could be more. I felt it. He certainly felt it. I told you – on and off, on and off…that’s how me and Madej roll. At least, in _this_ universe.”

Ryan eyes her thoughtfully, “Yeah, you’ve said something like that before…”

Another shrug, “Just something I’ve heard. Some hybrids claim they can open portals to other dimensions. I can’t, but the idea of it...”

He considers that and she nudges him, “My point is…he was looking. He was _always_ looking. Even when he was with me, he was searching. And I loved him enough then to want him to find it. And I love him enough now to know he finally, finally has.”

Ryan feels his face heat and she giggles, “You’re blushing.”

“No! I’m-I’m-!”

“It’s so cute! Aww, widdle baby Ryan,” she pokes his right cheek and he bats her away. Once her laughter dies off she confesses softly, “You saw it. In his past? Once he was introduced to the slumber chambers…he went there. So much. He slept and slept and slept. Because nothing could hold his interest. Because he never felt right. Like he fit. Yes, he was with me and when you add it up, it’s a lot of time, but in a long stretch?”

She looks at Ryan, eyebrows raised, “How long have you known him? How many years straight? No interruptions? No disappearances?”

Ryan doesn’t know how to answer, so she does it for him, “He’s been with you…day in, day out. Month after month. Year after year. And he’s stayed. He’s been content. He’s fit. At long last, he _belongs_.”

She can’t help but look a little sad as she murmurs, “He belongs with you.”

“Hey, hey,” Ryan opens his arms and she goes into them. He gives her a big hug as he says, “You’re the best, Sara.”

“Psh, I know,” she scoffs and pushes him away, “And hey, if this all works out – maybe I’ll give you two a couple of years alone together and then swoop right on in. We could be all poly progressive…”

“ _OH_! I know that that means!” a voice pipes in from behind them and Sara and Ryan turn to see Gladys there. Ryan suddenly feels like a total idiot. _Christ_ , Gladys was there the whole time! During their entire conversation! Fuccccck….

And how can he ever forget about a _ghost_? What is his life becoming?! Sara gives Gladys a grin, “Good for you!”

“I know, right! I’m learning all kindas new stuff! I mean, it’s not like this stuff wasn’t around when I was livin’ and breathin’, but nobody really talked about it. Or it was stupidly shameful or whatev! Can you believe that? But then, ignorance ain’t a new-fangled thing, ya know?” she pops her bubble gum, “Best ya can do is get yerself educated! Finally got some access on the mortal web, so I’m diggin’ inta everythin’! Just learned a coupla days ago what a ‘terf’ is…”

“Yeesh, you should stick to nice stuff,” Sara says, then asks, “Do you know what glamping is?”

At the headshake, Sara gives her a quick finger gun, “Look that up. Especially pictures. Some nice glamps out there.”

“I’ll make a note of it. Speakin’a notes…” she edges closer to Ryan and he notices she’s…looking very intently at his face. His mouth in particular. She blows out another near invisible bubble and he swears he can _feel_ it, “Um, can I help you?”

“Eh, don’t mind me. Jus’ trying to memorize the shape of your lips.”

“Why?” he draws out the word very long, very slow.

“Havin’ trouble gettin’ it just right,” she slowly eases back and he wonders what the hell she’s talking about when the elevator door dings open. As he and Sara exit, a demon takes their place and he can overhear the demon asking, “Hey Gladys, how’re the drawings going?”

Ryan doesn’t hear her answer, but now’s he’s really concerned about the whole ‘memorizing his lips’ thing. He rubs a hand over his face self consciously as Sara checks them in. They’re escorted into Qyrora’s office to find her talking to a young blonde woman in a wheelchair. The blonde looks up and smiles, “Well, well! If it isn’t the strapping young man you introduced me to last week!”

Qyrora sighs and steps back, “Yes, well, now I can introduce you face to face as opposed to just showing you some YouTube videos. Mr. Bergara, my wife and bondmate, Kristina.”

Kristina comes closer and offers her hand. Ryan shakes it and Kristina laughs, “You’re a bit of a celebrity around my pediatrics office! Well, the lunch room at any rate. The videos themselves aren’t very patient friendly. Or rather, not friendly with the age group of patients _I_ have.”

Ryan takes it all in stride, “It’s nice to meet you, Kristina. You can call me Ryan. I told your wife to call me that too.”

“Oh, you’re Mr. Bergara right now. Because we’re going to have a talk,” Qyrora does not look happy and Kristina winces, “Yeeouch! Know that face. Think I’ll stay here a sec, protect you some.”

Qyroar’s gaze shifts to her, “Yeah, he’ll need it,” she looks up towards Sara, “Her too, as I’m guessing she’s the one who suggested the absolutely batshit insane idea of soul fracturing!”

Sara frowns, “I don’t think it’s very professional for a doctor to call a medical procedure ‘batshit’.”

“It is when the ‘procedure’ has so many risks!” Qyrora makes sure to air quote ‘procedure’ and Sara holds up one of her hands in a sort of ‘talk to this’ way. This is pretty hilarious considering she was the one who voiced concerns with the idea in the first place. Ryan’s undeterred, “Sara mentioned the risks. She’s no more thrilled with this than you are, but I’ve made my decision, so how do we do this?”

“‘We’ don’t,” Qyrora stresses, “Because I’m not going to assist you in suicide!”

Kristina shifts around to look at her wife better, “ _Is_ it suicide?”

Qyrora crosses her arms and looks put out, so Kristina concludes, “I see. So, it’s not.”

“There’s a _potential_ for it,” is Qyrora’s retort, “He could die on the operating table!”

“So can any patient.”

“Kristina…” Qyrora argues but she holds up her own hand, “If he requires the procedure…”

“But that’s just it! He _doesn’t_!” Qyrora huffs, her arms moving about as if to punctuate her words, but Ryan’s counterpoint is ready, “I do if it’s the only way to save Shane.”

“Saving him by sacrificing yourself in his stead?!”

“Why not? That son of a bitch did it for me!”

“That doesn’t justify-!”

“Enough!” Kristina cuts in sharply and Qyrora’s mouth snaps shut. She gives her a pointed look, “Answer the question, hun. If you do this – if you go through with this – can it save the demon in question?”

Qyrora closes her eyes, scratches one eyebrow, “It’s…? God, there are so many variables…”

“Yes or no?”

Her dark eyes open and she lets out an unhappy sound, “Professional answer?”

“Always.”

While her lips form a tight line, Qyrora gives the curtest of nods, “Yes. Yes, professional answer…I agree with her,” she gestures to Sara, “assessment. Giving Shane Madej a soul, even part of one…making him more…human. It should work.”

“Then there’s nothing more to discuss,” Kristina returns quietly and Ryan looks at her with soft eyes, “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me too much,” Kristina murmurs, “I may’ve just signed your death warrant.”

“No,” Qyrora grumbles, “That would be _me_. Agreeing to this madness…”

Ryan offers, “If you want me to get another physician to-”

“Don’t insult me,” Qyrora hisses, “I wouldn’t dream of letting anyone else do this,” her voice becomes gentle again, eyes sad, “They might get it wrong.”

“Have you done this before?” Sara asks and at Qyrora’s venomous look, she just offers brightly, “Sara Rubin, by the way.”

“I have,” Qyrora’s sigh is full of bitterness, “With mixed results.”

“Like any elective procedure,” Kristina adds sagely, knowing exactly what her wife is thinking, “But he’s made his choice, Ro. Not to mention, I think I heard about his guy on the Preternatural News. You know, running amok and all…it’s only a matter of time before-!”

“Yes, yes. I know,” Qyrora tugs at her dark hair, “And, I suppose, if I were in Ryan’s shoes, I might consider doing the same.”

“Hey! You called me Ryan again!” he replies with some cheer but she glares at him, “I’m still mad at you! I don’t like being in this position.”

This gets a snort from Kristina, “Then you should’ve chosen a different profession.”

“Christ,” Qyrora tips her head back on a laugh before sauntering over to bends down and get closer to the blonde, “Tell me why I bonded you again?”

“‘Cause I’m cute?” Kristina offers and the two giggle before sharing a warm kiss. Sara lets out a little ‘aw’ and Ryan feels his cheeks heat. Qyrora pulls back and clears her throat, “Sorry. Unprofessional.”

“She does that,” Kristina chuckles, then claps her hands together, “Now! Should I leave? Or would you like an assist? We could bring my standing chair in and I can offer my own surgical advice.”

“You are the sweetest,” Qyrora gives her another kiss, “But, I think you should go. I need to focus one hundred percent if I’m going to oversee this madness.”

“Heard. See you later tonight then,” Kristina leaves and once she’s gone, Qyrora gives Ryan another assessing look, “Are you sure you want to go through with this? This isn’t like when Shane partially bonded you to save your life and pass on energy – this is your _soul_. Once it’s done, it’s done. No breaking it, no reversal – nothing.”

Ryan looks at the door Kristina left through, “You said it yourself – if you were me, would you hesitate?”

Qyrora sucks in a loud breath, “Alright. Then let’s get started.”


	5. Chapter 5

Ryan looks at himself in the mirror of the hospital restroom and asks his reflection, “What are you doing?”

There’s no answer, but it’s not like he expected one. He’s not in much of a mood to have a lengthy conversation with himself. Although he probably should. He’s moments away from fracturing his _soul_. Honestly, he’s never even given much thought to it. The whole ideology of a soul. Jesus, does anybody?

It’s such a philosophical thing, a deep question. Do we have souls? Do we go anywhere after this? Or are we just energy that’s finite? Blood, bone, air, and electrical impulses that just age, winding down until they’re reduced to an impassable inertness. Death. The end. Done and done and he now knows there’s something beyond this but he’s still-? It seems unreal, unimaginable.

It feels like a lie he’s been peddled and if that’s the case, why should this matter? Why should he worry that he’s risking anything? But he knows he is. He has a _soul_. And he’s about to cleave it in two. Give half of it away or, better to say, thrust it upon Shane and fuck, Shane…

Ryan walks backwards until his back meets a wall and then he just? He slides down and sits, knees tugged up close to himself as he worries his bottom lip with one thumb. How did they end up here? Was it really all _that_ long ago that they were just friends? Just work buddies at Buzzfeed making videos? They were both just…human. Normal.

But then, maybe they never were? After all, Shane was never human – Ryan just thought he was. And as for friends, well…they are still friends. But they’re so much more now. Ryan’s kissed him, been intimate with him, and he’s…he feels…

But does he feel _that_ much? They weren’t even really ‘dating’. Yes, they’d started something, but it’d been in its very infancy when everything fell apart. Everything was so rapid, so whirlwind, and to do this in response…

…what if Shane rejects it? What if Ryan does this for nothing? Makes this big sacrifice and for what? The _possibility_ Shane will come back? The possibility that they can pick up where they left off and god, that’s not even realistic, is it? It’s not like he can do this and he and Shane will just go back to work like nothing ever happened. Back to their lives.

Their lives…they’re so different now. Their lives different, themselves different. Changed.

Fuck, no wonder Shane tried so hard to keep all this from Ryan. No wonder he battled the change so fiercely.  But change…change _has_ to happen. There’s no choice. Nothing stays the same forever. There are no constants. Well, none save for one. Ryan cares about Shane. Whether romantically or platonically or-or anything. He _cares_ about him.

And he can’t let Shane die. Any more than Shane could let Ryan die. And if Shane dies? He _dies_. There’s no soul in him – only energy. When he’s smited…that’s it for him. He ceases to exist in all sense of the word. Ryan can’t have that. He couldn’t bear it.

And he’s been alone for so long. It’s been so…quiet. So awfully quiet. No banter, no wheezes, no stupid commentary. Nothing. Just…silence.

Sara’s arrival has helped. It’s helped a whole lot but he – he misses _Shane_. He misses that other half of himself and shit, it’s like the demon has half of his soul already. So why is he fucking procrastinating? He already made his choice. Long ago.

He fucking made it before he even knew about any of this. Yeah, he didn’t undergo a procedure, but Shane’s always had a part of him. He’s had a part of Ryan since the moment they clicked as true companions. Soul mates. Meeting someone, becoming part of their life, connecting on an elemental level…that’s giving away a bit of your soul right there.

Ryan feels better as he gets to his feet, looks at himself in the mirror and asks again, “What are you doing?”

This time he answers, “I’m getting Shane back.”

 

+

 

The ‘procedure’ is a clinical way of putting what looks like a torture set up.

The operating table has straps. It has _straps_. Ryan’s seen this kind of shit in haunted locations they went to. He’s done research about this grisly shit and here he is, consenting to it. Sara looks more and more anxious, pacing around, worrying her fingertips with her teeth, “Maybe you shouldn’t do this…”

Ryan sees her and can’t help himself, “Weren’t you the one scolding me about fingers in mouths?”

“Shut up,” she murmurs but stops the action now that he’s pointed it out, “You shouldn’t do this. This is a bad idea.”

“This was _your_ idea.”

“And I said it was bad then!” she snaps, “The doctor’s right. She’s right! This is batshit!”

“She agreed to it too!”

“Psh, only ‘cause her wife was there!” Sara cries, “Did you see Kristina? We barely spoke to her, but she’s like – bubbly steel!”

Ryan wheezes at that because, what the fuck? But Sara’s isn’t overly concerned with her strange description, still too worked up as she eyes the table, “You could feel it about her – her general  presence. Kristina gave good arguments, but she probably didn’t know about this table and what this entails and fuck, I can’t believe my _parents_ did this and here I am, suggesting _you_ do it and I regret that, I regret it so much and how’s about we just leave and think of something else that we can–”

“No,” Ryan cuts through her nervous rambling, “We don’t have time for that.”

“What are you talking about?” her voice is growing higher in pitch, “There’s plenty of time! There’s still members of the cabal left, that gives us plenty of time. We can find another way! There has to be another way that doesn’t involve-!”

Ryan walks over to her and takes her shoulders in his hands, much like she usually does for him, “Hey. Breathe.”

Sara does, but she doesn’t look happy about it, practically choking the air down into her lungs. He gives her a gentle pat before drawing his hands back, “No, he hasn’t finished, but we still don’t have a lot of time. He gave me another clue back in Atlanta. The song? Gloria? Well, in one of my trips into his past, I saw a demon named Gloraxial. No doubt she’s Gloria. That’s who he’s going to hit next. He might have hit her already for all we know. I’m hoping seeing me at least helped delayed it. That he gets how I’m picking up the bread trail he’s leaving me. But I don’t know.”

He runs a hand through his hair, eyes closing as he collects himself, “What I do know, is that we’re running out of time and options. You know what happens when he’s done.”

“Ryan…”

“He saved my life,” Ryan returns softly, “Twice. I’m just…returning the favor.”

“But like this?” she gestures to the table, to what’s above the table and oh yeah, he’d kind of forgotten about that. Or rather, did his best _to_ forget about it. Because high above the table is the worst looking thing he’s ever seen. It’s like an open iron maiden. There are _spikes_. Lots of spikes. Most of them tiny, but some very big and very long and yeah, he’s going to look away from that now.

Because Ryan doesn’t want to start openly weeping. He just has to keep telling himself he’s not a coward. That he’s brave and he’s been hanging with supernatural beings and that he can actually notch down demon hunter for real on his resume. Ryan warily gets up on the table, avoiding looking at the straps as his palms turn clammy. He clutches at the cool metal of the table and rocks his feet, “You’ve never told me.”

Sara makes a face, confusion paramount until he clarifies, “What you want out of this. Helping Shane was just one reason. What’s the other?”

Sara shifts about on her feet for a moment before blowing out a loud breath. She hops up on the table next to him, “Feels selfish to ask. Especially now.”

“Hey, now might be your last chance,” he jokes but the joke falls flat for both of them. She crosses her arms, fingers playing with the material of her cardigan, “You know my other power? The one where I can insert myself into someone’s subconscious?”

He nods and she avoids his eyes, “I don’t use it often. Again, it seems very selfish and self-serving but it…it has its benefits.”

She stops here and he waits. He’s patient. Finally Sara opens up more, “I’m tired, Ry. I told you that. Tired of this job. Of running around. I’d like to settle for a bit. If you let me…”

Another trail off and he thinks she’s really not going to continue, so he gently pushes, “If I let you…?”

“I’ve gone to school. Done research and study and…I can edit videos. Produce them. Things like that.”

Ryan blinks and his tone holds some surprise, “You want to work at Buzzfeed?”

She nods and he laughs, “I…I can’t really get you a job, that’s not what I-?”

‘”Yes,” her voice is tiny, embarrassed, “You can. If I…if I use my power right, I can make it so its like you’ve always known me. Like I’ve always been there. Been there and working at Buzzfeed. Mentally, _you’ll_ know the truth – but others around you won’t. You’ll pass it on like…like an unseen mental pathogen.”

“I…don’t think I’m mentally connected with other people like…”

She cuts him of with an unhappy laugh, “You’d be surprised. Humans are a lot more in tune with one another than they know. It’s how mass hysteria and misinformation get passed around so quickly. If you give me access…I can do it. I can insert myself into your world seamlessly.”

Ryan looks at her and she still looks so dejected. He doesn’t get it, “Sara, that’s-that’s cool. Why are you so-?”

“It’s _not_ cool,” she huffs, “It’s manipulative and shitty. I hardly ever use this power. My mom, back in her eviler heydays, she _loved_ it. She used it to get all kinds of things and she…she totally regrets that now, you know? She recognizes how fucked up it was and she raised me right, raised me to recognize it too. I _do_ want a job at Buzzfeed and I _should_ earn it like everybody else, but it’s also…? This is easier. And quicker. And it’s what I _want_ and I feel bad about that. I feel like crap.”

“You shouldn’t,” Ryan argues and she looks at him like that’s the stupidest thing he could ever say, but he just bumps their shoulders together, “You said you trained and studied and I believe you. And it’s hard a to get a leg up in this world. You have an opportunity, an advantage, and you _could_ exploit it, but you don’t. You’ve asked me if it’s okay for me to let you do this and I’m telling you. It’s okay.”

“But-!”

“No buts,” Ryan argues, “I know it’s only been a little while but, I feel like I have known you forever. And I know you won’t abuse this. If you were going to, you would have already done it. You wouldn’t be open and honest about it. I’m okay with letting you in, Sara. With giving you a chance. I know you won’t hurt the people I know, the people who will get to know you. I know you’re a good person…hybrid… _Sara_. You’re a good Sara.”

This time when she laughs it’s a little brighter, “Am I?”

He nods and she nods with him, “Okay, okay – I’m a good Sara.”

“You are and it’s fine. If I um,” he looks around – sees the straps, the spikes above and shivers, “If I survive this. If we get all this settled and done then, yeah…you’ve got the green light from me to do it.”

She turns and hugs him tight. He returns the hug and they both jump a little when they hear the door nearby open and shut, almost on a slam, as Doctor Qyrora enters, “Sorry to interrupt. Are we ready?”

Her memo recorder follows her, hovering around like an aggravated bee, and Ryan wonders if that’s because it’s connected so closely with her thoughts. He clears his throat as Sara gets down, “Yeah, I’m, uh, I’m good.”

“I’m going to wait outside,” Sara murmurs, “I don’t want to be in the way,” she kisses his cheek, “Good luck.”

“Yeah,” Ryan hums and as he watches her leave, Qyrora shoves a clipboard at him. “Sign this.”

He scans the paperwork attached with a frown, “This is-?”

“It’s for liability. You know, for your ‘elective’ suicidal procedure.”

Ryan sighs and unclips the pen from the top of the board, signing on each dotted line that requires his signature. His eyes dart to her now and again and, boy, is she angry. He can feel it. When he reaches the last one and she reaches for the clipboard, he tugs it to himself, “Look, I told you, if you don’t want to do this-”

“I don’t,” she manages between clenched fangs and he’s never seen her more vampiric, “But I told you – I don’t trust anyone else to do it.”

“Okay,” he draws the word out, “But, um, I don’t think you should go into this so, ah, emotional.”

“Emotional?!” she snaps, “What? Because I’m a doctor I can’t be emotional? Because I’m a vampire, I can’t be emotional?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! I-I never said-!”

“I know this unprofessional, okay!” her voice is tight, twisting, as if she’s fighting off a variety of feelings, “You’re my patient. I am your metaphysical physician. You’ve signed the forms, you’ve made your choice – there’s no reason for me to deny you this procedure. I’ve even done it before. And yes, it’s come a long way since back when Ms. Rubin’s parents undertook it. It’s improved, believe it or not, become safer! It’s just-! It’s-!”

The breath that leaves her is weighty and she cups her face in her hands before wrapping them behind her neck and rubbing, “Doctors of my ilk – they make the exact same oath yours do. To do no harm. I don’t want to harm you, Ryan. I don’t want…I don’t want to rent your soul in two.”

Qyrora’s hands lower and she rolls her head on her neck, “If you only knew…if only you could see it…”

Ryan wants to argue how his soul’s not that great, but he recognizes how dumb that would sound, “Yeah. But it’s _mine_. To do with as I see fit.”

“Yeah,” she bites her lower lip, “Yes. I know. More’s the pity.”

He looks at her and feels a wash of sympathy, “I get how this can’t be easy for you. It’s not like I’m excited to do this, but it’s...? I mean, what else can I do?”

“I know,” her dark eyes meet his, “Trust me, I know. That’s my number one reason for doing this. That’s my defense, the one point I can’t argue against. Because I was Mr. Madej’s physician before yours and this…this might be the only way to save him. On one hand, I have your life and on the other, I have his. If I do this, you might die. If I don’t, he definitely will.”

Ryan just nods and they both stay there a moment, stay in a bubble of silence. The moment is heavy and dimly lit and one of those moments in life that sticks with you - a clear, unforgettable memory. Unforgettable because of what it signals. From this moment, everything will be different, everything will change. Nothing will be the same.

Qyrora finally takes the clipboard from him and Ryan looks up at the spikes again. He points up to them, tries for levity, “So. Those, huh?”

Her gaze travels along his movement. She nods sullenly, “They project pinpointed beams. The bigger ones are focused directly over your chakras. They draw the energy from your soul upwards. Gather it into that,” she points to a nearby machine, “Inside is a sharply pointed vial, almost like a stake. You’ll…once your soul is collected inside, you’ll have to stab that directly into Shane. Press the plunger and…”

Ryan looks at her, eyes huge, “I have to _stab_ Shane? What? Like in the heart? Like friggin’ Buffy the vampire slayer?”

“Um, not exactly?” she hedges, “That show _was_ pretty inaccurate.”

Ryan just keeps staring at her. Finally she shrugs, “But, yes, sort of like that. It has to be injected directly into him.”

“Won’t-? Won’t _that_ kill him?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Not necessarily?!”

Qyrora glares at him, “This is the way it’s going to have to be, Mr. Bergara! He’s not here, he’s not willing! If you want to give him your soul, you’re going to have to do it this way!”

“By injecting him with it,” Ryan grumbles, appalled because…no. This is _not_ how he wants to do it. He remembers that awful fucking nightmare of Hell. That poison they pumped into Shane. Granted, this isn’t poison, but it’s…this feels like a betrayal. Doing it this way just seems so intrusive. So close to Shane’s stupid fear about being injected with heroin and oh god, there was clearly some basis for that after all.

Fuck.

Qyrora eyes the machine, “Honestly, I don’t even know if the vial will be able to pierce him. He’s absorbed so much power since the Void took him to host. It might not even be possible. Another worry I factor into all this. Now you get my concerns more than ever.”

A sound rumbles, like thunder rolling through clouds, followed by a softer noise and then a smooth, accented voice, “No need for concern.”

Ryan and Qyrora both startle as Raziel appears out of thin air. He has his hands in his pockets, suit sharply pressed, face a warm smile, “I have just the thing you need.”

That he does and Ryan’s oh so glad this happened before the procedure. He’s been waiting for this. He hops directly off the operating table and lands a good punch right across Raziel’s face. The angel’s head snaps neatly to one side, but past that, he has no reaction, “Ryan. Good to see you again.”

“You son of a bitch!” Ryan hisses and leaps for him again but the angel sidesteps it, “Come, come – no need for such temper.”

“You broke my bond, you bastard!”

“Well, it _was_ at Shamsiel’s request,” Raziel pouts like it’s such a misfortune and Ryan is ecstatic he gets a chance to kill this prick before he goes under. Ryan’s going to pluck off each fucking feather on each of his goddamn wings! He goes for him again, but Qyrora steps in, blocking him, “What do you think you’re doing here?”

“Why, offering help, naturally,” Raziel replies sweetly, “Isn’t that what’s expected of a heavenly host?”

“You broke their bond?” she asks.

He sighs, “Indeed. Again, my wayward brother requested it. In return for his self-sacrifice.”

“So you put him up to this?”

“Not exactly, but our beloved father – well…”

“Then pass this along,” Qyrora returns and slaps him soundly. The slap rings out and Ryan hoots and hollers. There’s also a clearly similar sound coming from outside the room and Ryan suddenly takes note of the mirror nearby – no doubt two way, that Sara’s probably watching through. Raziel is starting to look…miffed, “Are we done?”

“Hmm,” Qyrora slaps him one more time. Harder. “Yes. Now.”

Raziel harrumphs and rubs at the spot she hit, “Vampires and humans…such abusive species.”

Ryan shoots daggers at him, “Oh, because angels are so merciful.”

Raziel deflates some, “I take it you are still referring to my breaking of the bond. Such a little thing to harp over-”

“Little-?!” Ryan starts but Raziel keeps talking as if uninterrupted, “-however, I suppose I could have been more…empathetic at the time.”

“You think?!”

The angel’s hands disappear into his pockets and he shakes them some, “I am aware it was mere minutes after you lost Shamsiel. However, I thought it best to do it quickly. What’s that mortal adage? The one about removing bandages?”

“Fuck you. _That’s_ a mortal adage.”

“Oh Ryan, I expect so much better from you,” Raziel scolds mildly, “And you haven’t even rendered your soul yet.”

This gets him an assessing look from the doctor, “And you’re okay with him doing that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks as he walks around the operating room, lightly trailing the fingers of one hand over this and that. Qyrora’s eyes never leave him, “Because – if he does this, if he succeeds. Won’t that put an end to your little prophecy?”

“And just why do you think that?”

“Shane won’t complete his mission. Some of the cabal will live.”

His response is to look at her and smile. A chilly, fucking _strange_ smile, “I take it you haven’t read Alys words? Heard them?”

Qyrora and Ryan just watch him. The smile disappears and he looks a little warmer, “You’d be surprised at the… intricacies of prophecies. Suffice it to say, I am an angel of mysteries. And as Ryan would say, this one shall remain, unsolved.”

“You cryptic-!” Ryan starts but Raziel draws something from his pocket and Ryan’s words freeze in his throat. His heart stops. Qyrora’s eyes widen and Sara, Sara who has been watching this whole time through the two-way mirror, can’t help but enter, practically racing around the corner to open the door and come inside to look.

Look at what Raziel has produced. The vampire, the human, the hybrid – they stare on in awe at the single feather Raziel holds. It’s blue, gilded in gold. Raziel twirls the delicate tip between his fingers, “You saw this in one of your dreams. Didn’t you?”

Ryan can’t speak. He’s too…moved. Too choked up. His eyes water and he has to rub at his mouth, choke back a sob. Raziel is indifferent, “I was there. Right after he fell. Those beautiful wings…torn to shreds. So many feathers lost, but this one…”

Raziel moves it to the center of his palm, holds it up. The gentle filaments tremble delicately under an unseen gust of air, “I was told to keep it. Safe guard it. Until now.”

Raziel moves back to the machine that part of Ryan’s soul is set to move into. He draws out the vial inside Qyrora spoke of and with mechnical ease, he crushes the feather over it. It turns to ash, falls upon the sharpened tip of the vial. It glows with an unearthly light, then dulls, returns to normal. Raziel puts the vial back in place, “There! You should find it easy to pierce him now.”

No one breathes. They just stare at the angel, who looks back with cool eyes, “See? My father is meticulous in his plans. He can be magnanimous. As can I.”

He zeroes in on Ryan and smiles, “Until next time.”

And then he’s gone as quickly as he came.

 

+

 

“And you’re absolutely sure about this.”

“You’ve asked me that and asked me that,” Ryan sighs, his eyes screwed shut and he hears a soft sigh from the physician, “Okay, but now you’re _actually_ strapped in.”

He is. Ryan can feel the cuffs holding his wrists and ankles in place. His sternum. They’re not uncomfortable, but they’re also not something he enjoys. He’s got his eyes shut because he doesn’t want to see this. Doesn’t want to think about it and he says as much, “Let’s…let’s just get this over with, huh?”

Another soft sigh and he can hear her shoes padding around as she walks. Qyrora changed into full surgical gear, he’s in a hospital gown and it’s cold. Cold and scary and just keep your eyes closed, Ryan.

“Once I turn the device on, I can’t stop. Doing so will cause irreparable damage.”

“Okay,” he hates how his voice quivers.

“It will start off at a low intensity and then gradually increase,” she swallows, he can hear her swallow, “Know that if you scream, lose control of your bowels, or pass out – or all three – I will think no less of you.”

“Thanks,” Ryan hopes he managed to infuse that word with as much dripping condescension as possible. Did she really need to say all that? Probably, because she follows with, “I’m going to begin the procedure. Again, know that I have done this before.”

“Right.”

“But I’ve never…” she starts, stops, tries to start again. He can hear the words clicking around in her throat but not coming out. With his eyes closed his other senses seem heightened, hearing on point as he murmurs, “Yes?”

“I’m a good physician because I can normally detach myself emotionally from the situation. The patient. That’s why this is so hard. It’s not as if I’ve known you for years, known you well, but from what I do know…” Qyrora inhales, “Just, keep your head up, eh?”

Ryan wants to joke, say something about how he’ll do his best to survive or something. But there are no words he can think to say and then a buzzing fills the air. It’s like hundreds of bees have descended into the room, filling it with their sound and he feels…warm. He risks opening his eyes a fraction. He closes them again quickly because it’s _blinding_.

Laser lights dance all over him. Golden red and he can feel them. It’s like the sun but more substantial. There’s force. Force that’s gradually growing stronger and stronger and there’s a weight on his chest. It’s crushing him. It’s hard to breathe. His lungs are in a vice and his head aches, thunders. His teeth feel like they’re twisting in his gums and he knows he lets out a distressed moan, a noise of pain and then-

Good god, it _increases_. Now it’s like he’s being pelted with rock hard bolts of hail – cold and icy, but there’s something scalding hot alongside that. Fireballs jolting up and down every nerve ending and fuck, the pain, _the pain_. This is a thousand times worse than the bond being broken. Physical pain and emotional pain run in a heated, headlong tandem with one another and he cries out.

Ryan bellows in agony and _oh god, No. no, no! Don’t! Fuck, please, don’t! Stop, stop, stop, STOP! Please, please stop_! And he hears someone in the distance and he realizes he’s _talking_. He’s _screaming_ those words. They’re escaping him without thought because of the pure, unrestrained agony. And then it turns up _more_. It’s so strong now that he’s awash in it.

Ryan’s dragged beneath the undertow of unrelenting, unrestrained torture.

Pain. Hurt. The hurting. That’s all he knows. All he _is_. No, he’s beyond that. He’s, he’s…!

…in an office?

Ryan blinks. What the fuck? Where-?

He runs his hands over himself, looks around, totally lost and then he realizes what’s happened. He’s passed out. Or he’s dead. But he’s pretty sure he just lost consciousness on the operating table, the procedure more than his mind could take, his body could take. So, he’s here. In one of Shane’s memory/dreams.

…in an office.

Ryan looks around and tries to find his bearings. There’s cubicles and people typing and hushed phone conversations and then Shane walks in. Shane, but the way Ryan’s always known him. Current. Not the past, not his beginning. Something more recent. Or so it appears. He’s certainly wearing more modern-day attire. Jeans, unbuttoned flannel, and he looks so carefree.

So…so _Shane_.

He walks right past Ryan and Ryan turns, follows him. They go straight up to an office door, a plaque in the very center reading ‘Gloria Sterling’. Shane raps on it with the back of his knuckles and a smooth voice inside says, “Come in.”

Shane does and Ryan follows behind him. A woman with scarring along one side of her face sits behind a desk. Shane gives her a grin, “Gloria.”

Gloria merely gestures to a chair in front of her desk and he takes it, one long leg propping itself on the other as he remarks dryly, “Been awhile. How’ve you been?”

“What do you want?”

He rests a hand to his chest, “Ouch. Wow. Just…just jumping right into it?”

She gestures to the papers on her desk, “Well, I am busy. Unlike some demons, I work for a living.”

“Again I say, ‘ouch’.”

Gloria sucks on her teeth and it’s clear she’s trying not to smile, “Shane…”

“Aw! You remembered.”

Her caramel colored eyes narrow, “You’ve been going under that moniker for a while now.”

“Yeah, but you’d be surprise,” he stretches, “Most everybody forgets.”

“Bet the portal jockey doesn’t.”

He rolls his eyes, “She has a name.”

“Whatever.”

“Oh my, is someone jealous?”

Gloria snorts, “Never in a million years. Got nothing but pity for that poor girl.”

“Yeah, well,” he shifts about, looks uncomfortable, “We’ve parted ways.”

Her unblemished eyebrow arches, “Trouble in paradise?”

“On the contrary, we’re just…” he shrugs, not elaborating further and she rewards him with a bit of a smirk, “Let me guess…it’s a casual thing.”

“Nailed it in one.”

She crosses her arms and pushes her back further into her plush office chair, “You know, someday you’re going to come across somebody you’re _not_ casual with. Someone who’ll capture all of you.”

Shane laughs hard, head tossing back but Gloria is unmoved. She waits through his levity and once he’s collected himself he wipes tears from the corner of one eye, “Holy shit! Didn’t-didn’t take you for a romantic, Gloria!”

She picks up a pencil and taps it on her desk, eyes casting off to one side, “You’d be surprised.”

Ryan looks at her and wonders. She’s…different from the other members of the cabal. Softer, maybe? He wishes he could ask about it, but this isn’t the place for that. He’s nothing more than an observer now and he watches as Gloria asks, “So come on, out with it. What can I do for you?”

“Eh,” Shane tries to play it cool but Ryan knows this, because he’s seen this. Shane wants something. He wants it bad, but he’s trying to act nonchalant about it. The tell is always when he rubs one side of his nose, which he does now, “I’m bored.”

“That so?”

He nods, “Was thinking if there’s a job opening…?”

Gloria taps her pencil some more before pointing it at him, “You.”

“...yeah?”

“ _You_ want a job.”

He puffs out, “It’s not that much of a shock.”

“You haven’t taken a job for the cabal since the 1500s. That whole,” she waves an errant hand, “dancing mess.”

“Hey! I was proud of that!” Shane beams, looking impish, “I mean, I was in France, it seemed like a lark…”

“Humans died.”

“And I feel bad about that!” he says but he doesn’t sound super sincere, “I do!”

Gloria rolls her eyes, “Lord...you want me to send you out on a job. A job among mortals with that attitude?”

“What’s wrong with my attitude?”

“Newsflash: humans are sensitive, you dolt!” her words are sharp but her expression…she really is trying hard not to look amused by him, “They’ll probably pick you off as a demon from the bat!”

“They haven’t before,” he replies confidently, “They just think I’m…odd.”

“Ha! That’s one word for it.”

“Eccentric,” Shane adds, “That’s another I’ve gotten.”

He sits up and gives her a wink, “Charming?”

“Oh god,” she moans and finally gives into the smile she’s been fighting. Shane pumps a fist, “Got you!”

“Shut up,” she grumbles fondly and she looks at the files, looks at him. Her face is suddenly solemn and Shane senses the shift in her mood, “What’s up?”

“Nothing, just…” she puts the pencil down and gets to her feet. She walks over to a file cabinet and opens it, drawing out a large office envelope. Gloria flips it over and over in her fingers. She contemplates it silently and Shane gives her the chance to think. A rarity. Ryan watches with some surprise. Shane must really like her to keep his mouth shut this long. Impatient son of a bitch.

The thought makes Ryan grin and then Gloria turns, holds out the envelope, “I think this assignment will suit you.”

Shane takes the envelope and opens it. He reads the first few sentences on a typed page and groans, “ _No_. Come _on_.”

He smacks the paperwork on one knee, “A _monitor_? Really?”

Gloria has resumed her seat and she seems unmoved. Shane brings the paperwork close again, reads aloud, “…the following individual was depicted in a vision and was thus classified-? A _vision_!”

Shane looks even more insulted and Gloria just shrugs, “It’s been known to happen.”

“C’mon, Gloria! You and I both know visions are complete and utter horseshit!”

“That they are,” she agrees, “But it doesn’t change protocol. Mortals witnessed in visions get assigned monitors. And this one, well…keep reading…”

Shane looks back to the papers again, flips some as he scans the words quickly, “Jesus…a film student?”

“Keep going.”

Another page flip, “The Queen Mary…believer…potential for exposure by…”

Shane stops. He’s been flipping through the pages like mad and just – stops. Ryan eases forward and sees why. It’s a photo. It’s a photo of _Ryan_. He’s so young in it. Fresh out of college. He’s smiling, all bright eyed and happy, clutching his diploma and Shane holds the picture up, scoffing, “This kid?!”

Gloria’s lips just swish from side to side at Shane’s ire. Shane waggles it at her, “You think-? _They_ , the big bosses, _they_ think that _this_ kid will potentially expose the supernatural world?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“A possibil-?! He’s friggin’ smurf sized!”

“ _Everyone_ is smurf sized to you.”

“Look at him!” Shane finds another photo to hold up and Ryan cringes because, yeah, that’s not a good photo of him, “He’s a doofus!”

Gloria doesn’t say a word and Shane’s just scoffing left and right as he looks through more of the paperwork, through more pictures, “And his hair? What the hell is up with that? And his eyebrows and his-his whole _face_.”

“I never thought of you as superficial.”

“I’m not,” Shane argues, “But this kid…”

With a flippant gesture he tosses the envelope up on her desk, unimpressed, “What else you got?”

Gloria carefully collects up the mess he just made, “I _do_ have other jobs.”

“Okay, good. Like what?”

She doesn’t answer right away, just keeps collecting up the papers and photos and then she finds one and stops. Gloria looks at it thoughtfully and then holds it out, “Here.”

Shane grumps and it doesn’t look like he’s going to take it but she keeps thrusting it in his direction. Finally he snatches it from her and her voice is very soft, “Just look at it.”

His eyes cast over the image quickly, “Look at what?”

“Look at it. Look at _him_ ,” her voice is more…forceful. Pushing. Ryan can almost feel the power of it and he’s in a _dream_. A _memory_. Shane looks at the picture. It’s of Ryan at the beach. He’s smiling and holding a hot dog, a backwards baseball cap in place. He’s the very picture of a dude bro, but the lighting…

…there’s something about the lighting. The sun is just…dazzling behind Ryan. Light streaks across his face, dances over his lips and his eyes sparkle, deep and dark. Shane runs a finger over the picture, right along the side of Ryan’s face, one fingertip trailing over a sunbeam. He doesn’t say a word, just…looks. Looks like Gloria told him too.

His eyes dart over it and Ryan watches him, watches his face…soften.

Shane puts the photo down. Gently this time, “A monitor?”

Gloria nods, “It would only be temporary.”

“How temporary?”

She shrugs, “Year or two tops.”

“That’s…that’s a lot for me…”

“Is it?”

He doesn’t answer and she sighs, “You sleep too much. There’s a lot here now. Technology’s improved, humans are starting to recognize cigarettes as a problem-”

“ _That’s_ nice.”

“Yup,” she pops the ‘p’, “Okay with weed though. Probably going to get that legalized in some places soon.”

“Really?”

She shrugs again, “We’re working on it.”

“You guys’ve been working on that one a long time.”

Gloria just makes a sound of agreement and Shane…Shane picks the photo back up. Ryan watches him look at the photo, look at Ryan. Shane runs one hand through his hair, “What’s-? What’s he like?”

The female demon looks beyond pleased, “You could find out for yourself.”

“He’s…he’s probably an idiot,” Shane grumbles, “He’s a believer.”

“That he is.”

Shane hasn’t taken his eyes off Ryan’s face. He just keeps running his long fingers over it, “It means he’s completely illogical. Probably not even smart…”

“On the contrary,” Gloria assures him, “Very smart. It’s in his file. All the information you would need.”

“…and he’s clearly one of those…those college meatheads…”

“Not really,” she counters, “He’s dedicated. Driven. And he has a sense of humor. I know that’s important to you.”

“I highly doubt he’s funny. He’s funny looking, but funny?”

Gloria continues as if he didn’t speak, “He’s set for a job at an internet company called Buzzfeed. That’s where you would come in.”

“I didn’t say I was taking the job.”

“Oh? Didn’t you?”

Shane finally takes his eyes from the photo, sits up, “I…guess I could try it.”

“Excellent!” she smoothly shuffles the photos of Ryan and other papers that Shane threw up on her desk back into their envelope before she hands it to him, “Come back tomorrow and we’ll start the process.”

Shane gives a curt nod and gets to his feet, taking the envelope. Ryan notices he still has the one photo of him out, his eyes still scanning it again as he exits. Ryan expects the dream to end when suddenly, Raziel materializes. Gloria turns to him, “It’s done.”

“Excellent, sister dear!”

“Don’t call me that,” she grouses and he perches on her desk, “I must admit, I am surprised at your part in this. Your beloved Adamox would not approve.”

“He’s not my beloved any more than I’m your ‘sister’,” she returns and her eyes are on her computer. She types and does her best to act like the angel isn’t there. He stays firmly in place, “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me why you’re helping to push this along.”

Her typing slow. Gloria doesn’t meet his eyes, “The prophecy….”

“Yes?”

“Do…do you really think he’ll fulfill it?”

Raziel rises up and strokes a hand down the back of her head, petting her like one would a cherished pet, “You saw how he looked at the photo. What do you think?”

She doesn’t answer and then the moment…shifts…shifts and grows bright, bright, brighter, blinding white…

 

 

+

 

“...yan?”

“…not awake!”

“...coming around, just-!”

“...Ryan! RYAN!”

He can only open his eyes into slits, everything around him feeling so…heavy. And light. Too light. He sucks in a shuddering breath, voice raspy and slurred, “Did lose m’bowels?”

A terribly relieved sound rings out as well as an attractive laugh that he recognizes as the doctor’s, “No, your bowels stayed intact. Your soul, on the other hand…”

Ryan tries to sit up but it’s a struggle. He feels two different pairs of gentle, slender hands beneath him and he slowly rolls up into a sitting position. He risks opening his eyes more, blinking wearily. Everything swims around him. He feels drunk or hungover or both. It’s a mishmash of sights and sounds and his hands find the table beneath him, gripping it hard as it slowly, slowly settles.

Qyrora and Sara are each to one side of him, eyeing him warily. He coughs and god, his lungs are _throbbing_ , throat raw. He presses a hand to it and Qyrora disappears for a moment, reappearing with a tall glass, “Here. Drink this.”

He barely manages to grasp the glass, his fingers feeling numb and clumsy. Sara helps him, offers support to the bottom, as he tips it up to drink. Cool, refreshing liquid pours through him, easing some of the ache. His eyes open further and things feel more steady, solid, as he finishes the drink in three strong gulps.

Once done, Qyrora takes it from him and sets it to one side, “Better?”

He nods, eyes scanning about, “So it’s…done?”

The doctor merely nods and walks away again, her destination clearly the machine that collected one half of his soul. She withdraws the vial from inside and it looks so mundane. Not at all like it holds a piece of what makes him _him_. Or part of what made him himself and she holds it like it’s the most fragile, breakable thing in existence, “One stake ready to go.”

“Thought you didn’t like Buffy?”

“Didn’t say that,” she smirks sadly, “Just said it’s inaccurate.”

Ryan reaches for it, but she draws back, “No. Not yet, you need…”

Her words trail off and she walks over to one of her medicine cabinets. She pulls out a little satchel and carefully deposits it inside before coming back to him, “You don’t want to touch it until you have to.”

His face must ask the question because she answers with, “It has a piece of your soul inside, Ryan. You’ll be tempted to take it back.”

“What? I’ll stab myself with it?” he laughs but there’s no humor in her expression, nor Sara’s, so his laughter dies off awkwardly. Qyrora holds the satchel out and he takes it with fingers that still feel shaky, “Nice lil’ carrying case.”

Ryan gets to his feet and wavers slightly. It’s so strange. He’s missing half of his _soul_. But he doesn’t feel any different. Sort of heavy, yes, like he’s been sleeping for hundreds of years, but not like – evil? Can you _feel_ evil when you’re evil? But then he’s not, right? Just because half of his soul’s gone doesn’t mean he’s some sort of monster now and he’s come across so many creatures that _don’t_ have souls and none of them have necessarily screamed evil.

“I-? Should I feel something?”

“No, actually,” Qyrora sighs, “That’s how you know the procedure was a success. You’ll feel less now. Be more…neutral about things. You lose some passion, some perspective. This is both a good and bad thing, depending on the road you take from here. Some report feeling freer, unencumbered by anxieties and thoughts that plagued them albeit with the bad side effect of being less compassionate in certain situations. Others…”

“Let me guess,” Sara cuts in, “Others don’t really report anything ‘cause they go down the nasty, no good path of treachery, murder, insanity, etcetera?”

“There’s a lot in that ‘etcetera’ but yes, you get the gist. You, however,” she pats one of Ryan’s shoulders, “Still have at least half your soul. And considering the strength of it…I think you’ll be alright.”

“You think, huh?” he teases and she lifts one slim shoulder, “It’s still a shame – doing what we did. It’d be like if we carved a beautiful work of art in half. But hey, you still have one half of it, don’t you?”

Sara cuts in with an amused glint in her eyes, “You’re like half of Michelangelo’s ‘David’, half of Van Gough’s ‘Starry Night’, half of-“

“Hopper’s ‘Summer Evening’,” Qyrora offers and Sara lets out a little ‘ho, ho, ho,’ at that before adding, “Obscure.”

The doctor merely tips her head to one side at the observation and Ryan carefully cinches the satchel in place around one thigh. God, he looks like Tomb Raider. Still, it’s comfortably in place and he runs a hand over it thoughtfully. _Part of my soul is in here_ ; his thoughts whisper and he finds he wants to draw the stake out. Wants to hold it, wants…

…okay, maybe that whole ‘stab himself’ thing wasn’t too farfetched. He quickly stops touching the satchel, tries to focus on something else, focus on what he should _focus_ on, “We have to find Shane.”

“Agreed, that’s been the name of the game since get go,” Sara turns to Qyrora, “Is it alright for him to-?”

“Another benefit of soul loss. Recovery time ticks down a great deal,” she eyes them both, “Do either of you have any idea where he might be headed?”

“I had another dream,” Ryan says and Sara huffs out an ‘of course you did’ as he continues, “A demon named Gloria Sterling was in it. I figure we contact Michael and see-”

“ _BOO_!” a voice shouts and everyone jumps. Gladys floats in through a thick wall, laughing hysterically at the sight, “I did it! Oh man! Other ghosts told me haunting was a blast, but I never-!”

Her laughter continues for a long while, more so thanks to the looks of annoyance dancing over Ryan, Sara and Qyrora’s faces. Eventually Gladys gets ahold of herself, “Anyways, I was on my twenty – got someone else watchin’ my tin box, when I overhears you guys talking and I’m thinkin’ I might have a lead on your boy.”

“Really?” Ryan asks and he walks closer to the ghost and man, it figures a _ghost_ would be the one to help him in this. She nods and draws out an old cell phone, “Yeah, see, I got this doohickey here – it’s an older model cell phone, so it’s kinda considered to be a ghost of the tech, ya know? But I digress – it still gets access to the interwebs – the _mortal_ one and I’m in this thing – a– a Discord?”

She checks to see if he’s following what she’s saying and at his nod, she continues, “So, I’m talkin’ ta all these folks – fans of yer show? And they’re talking about this shadowb, er, shadow beast – that’s what they call Shane these days.”

Gladys pauses again, this time looking at all of them as if she’s worried she might have offended someone with that. Once she’s comforted that she hasn’t, “So, anyways, he’s sorta been roaming around the web like this unconfirmed boogeyman, like that slenderguy mess, and I was tryin’ to get them to change subjects, ‘cause I’m thinkin’ they shouldn’t look too hard into it, ‘cause at one point they were _really_ pickin’ up on your repordata replacements, but one of ‘em, appletatersprecious – or Devon, think their name is Devon? Devon won’t let it go, and says there was a recent sightin’ in New Orleans…”

“How recent?”

“Just yesterday,” Gladys holds the phone closer to Ryan and while he can’t touch it, he can make out the grainiest of images, “See that patch’a black there? The bit that looks like a tail tip? Somebody took a shot of this near some graveyard. They couldn’t go inside, but they said they saw it fly over-”

“Which graveyard?” Ryan interrupts, his mounting excitement making it difficult for him not to rush her. She waves a hand at him, “Hang on, hang on, lemme just...”

Her silvery fingers slide over the phone’s surface and it’s clear she’s scrolling through the Discord app. Ryan’s patience is boiling to its tipping point just as she says, “St. Louis cemetery, but there’s two of ‘em and Devon didn’t know which-?”

“I know which,” Ryan assures her and looks to Sara who nods, “Yeah, I’ve been to New Orleans before. Can ‘port us there easy.”

“Wow, he’s in a cemetery _and_ you’ve got a stake,” Qyrora shakes her head, “Very Buffy. Maybe it was more accurate than I thought...”

“Who’s Buffy? She a Kardashian?” Gladys asks, “Just learned ‘bout them yesterday…”

On that note, “We gotta go,” Ryan murmurs and he gets closer to Sara, who quickly slides a showering, sparkling teleportation disc over them, taking them away in an instant.

 

+

 

The cemetery is nothing like Buffy.

First of all, it’s wet and muggy. Slick grit sticks like glitter to Ryan’s sneakers. There’s no grass in sight and very little brush. The humid air is wildly oppressive and it’s completely pitch black out. No stars, no moon, no moody lighting. Just pure darkness. There are dots of lights in the far distance but it is the _far_ distance.

Ryan’s pretty sure there were lights around here, but that they’ve been handled in some way. Whether manually or magically, he highly doubts it’s always this dark here. Gothic, above-ground vaults surround them. Penning him and Sara close to one another and she holds up one hand to generate a very, very small portal over her palm.

It spins in place, gold sparks shooting, “Not much light, huh?”

“Nope,” he returns and he finds his hands going to the satchel, running over it, “Wish I had my holy water pistol in here.”

“Where’d you leave it?”

“Back at my place. Kitchen table,” he says this more to himself than her, mentally berating him for coming here so quickly but they had had no time to waste. Still, to jump the gun and arrive here unprepared…

But then Sara reminds him why she’s so useful as she gives a clipped, “On it,” and drops the disc from her palm, letting it grow in size and diameter. She steps through, disappears, and not five minutes later returns with the gun. He takes it with a grateful sigh, “Thanks.”

Sara nods, “You gonna use that on him?”

“On who?”

“Santa Claus,” she returns dryly, “ _Shane_ , Ryan. Are you going-?”

He shakes his head, “No, no. He said it doesn’t work on him. But other demons?”

She clearly agrees with his logic and she summons the tiny portal light again, walking forward. Ryan follows after her. The cemetery is sprawling, massive, he’s not certain they’ll be able to locate Shane at all in such a large area. He’s thinking of how to narrow their search down when he hears someone talking in the distance.

Sara tilts her head in that direction and he silently agrees. They walk towards the sound and it’s impossible to make out the exact words being said. Various insects buzz, filling the night air with their song, camouflaging any other sounds. Save one. Leathery wings. Ryan’s eyes grow wide and he feels something pass over him, a rapid brush of air.

He looks up and he can’t see Shane, but he somehow knows the demon passed overhead. Obviously headed in the same direction they are. Sara and Ryan try to pick up the pace, weaving their way through the tombs and the words get louder, the voice clearer, and Ryan recognizes it as Gloria from his dream.

“…appreciate this, to be honest,” a gentle exhale, “It’s been a long time.”

There’s no answer and then Gloria starts again, “If it can’t be someone I revere, at least it’s someone I can tolerate,” a laugh, “After all, it’s not as if you’re on the same level as I am. And I’m not talking about our ridiculous hierarchy. I’m talking about physical prowess, mental acuity, the like…”

Ryan almost catches a glimpse of her when Sara holds out a hand, tugs him back, one finger to her lips. Her expression is the most serious he’s ever seen and he understands. It’s better to wait, to see what’s going to happen, because Gloria is alone. Or at least she appears alone.

She’s kneeling in front of one of the tombs on a little mat. A smattering of candles are around her, all glittering brightly. Various trinkets are littered around and Ryan recognizes them for what they are. Offerings. Gifts to the long dead. It’s seems such a contradictory thing for a demon to do. Honor the fallen.

But Gloria isn’t most demons, “It’s not as if I haven’t done my fair share of bad things. I’ve lied, I’ve cheated, I’ve stole. I’m a sinner, although I did my best not to be. In the beginning, ah, the very, very beginning…”

“I loved him, you know,” her tone is reproachful, sad, “Father. Perhaps too much. After all, you know,” she gestures to the scarring on her face, “Flying too close to the sun and all that…”

She waves to the tomb in front of her, “And then what did I do? I did it again. Loved too deeply, too strongly – albeit in a different capacity. You understand that better than anyone. Don’t you, Shane?”

Ryan looks around for Shane but doesn’t see him. Not at all. Gloria must though, because she speaks as if she’s talking directly to him, “The prophecy said you would. Or, well, the one destined to fulfill it would, and somehow I knew – just knew – it was you.”

Her fingers lightly trail over the items she’s laid out, “I’ll be honest…I wanted it to be you. And at first, at first, I felt no remorse for my actions. I wanted you to feel what I did. To have what I had. I…I wanted someone to suffer the same way I did.”

Gloria’s head shifts over her shoulder some and for a split second, Ryan thinks she sees him, but she doesn’t. She just turns back forward, eyes on the tomb again, “To feel like I felt. That loss. That ache. That hole inside you that never goes away, that just grows – because the one you love is so, so mortal. And you? You’re-?”

A gust of something, like a laugh or a sob, escapes and she brushes a hand over her face, “It’s not as if you can make a life with them. They die. And if you’re lucky enough to have more? To…to bring a child into…”

The words cut off there, too choked, and for a few moments Gloria says nothing, obviously trying to collect herself, trying to get a lid on her emotions. When she does, she sounds strong, “It doesn’t last. Or it didn’t for me. Tragedy. That’s the word. The one that marks our existence. A black spot that can’t be rubbed out.”

“And maybe I deserve it. For my actions. Like I said – liar, thief, killer – oh yes,” her eyes go to the tomb again, “I am that. Very much. My line is gone. All died out. I have no legacy. No…no nothing. But I will admit…now? Now, I feel remorse.”

Slowly she moves, rising to her feet and Ryan notices then that there’s a mist there. Creeping around her, moving stealthily. Too stealthily. It’s as if the smoke is sentient and as she rises Ryan notices she has friggin _daggers_ clipped to either side of her hips, “You deserved better. But your sacrifice was necessary. You’re my way out. I want you to know – I welcome death. I welcome oblivion.”

She withdraws the daggers, holds them defensively, “But I’m not going down without a fight.”

Prepared or not, her initial fight is short lived. The smoke becomes solid and a clawed hand grasps her left ankle, knocks her back. She falls, landing hard on her ass and the smoke rises, shadows forming to make a solid body and that’s where Shane is. Right in front of Ryan. Gloria rolls, dodges, as Shane strikes out.

Her recovery quick, she slashes out at him, striking one wing. He lets out an inhuman sound, possibly one of pain or anger or both, it’s hard to say, but he’s not deterred for long, going for her again. Gloria parries, his sharpened claws clashing against her cold steel and Sara looks at Ryan, “Oh boy, what do we do now?”

“I don’t know! I wasn’t expecting this,” he gestures to the fight and it’s actually pretty impressive. Vicious. And, in a way, more proof to Ryan that the idea of the Void possessing Shane _is_ legit, because no way Shane can fight like this. Guy has no training (at least as far as Ryan knows) and this is like a slickly choreographed fight scene. The very thing that would fit right in on a television show.

Gloria and Shane are evenly matched, but it’s clear Gloria has limits. Shane doesn’t. He’s powered by something bigger than himself, something stronger – so much collected energy pushing him beyond levels and one of her daggers goes flying.

“Yeah, she’s not going to last long. You gotta make your move,” Sara says and she reaches into one of her pockets, “Here.”

Sara is holding up a peanut.

A _peanut_.

Ryan looks at her as if she’s lost her mind. She just scoffs and then turns back to the fight, lobbing the peanut as hard as humanly possible at Shane. It flicks across one of his left cheek and he turns on a dime, red eyes glowing. Sara shoves Ryan, “Go on!”

Ryan tumbles out into view, legs sort of stiff and Shane just _looks_ at him. Glares. It’s very much like it was back at the warehouse. Ryan has no idea what on earth to do when Sara hisses, ”Do the thing!”

“What?” he croaks and she snaps, “Ricky Goldstein! Do that! You said he likes it! Maybe he’ll respond!”

“It’s _Goldsworth_!”

“Whatever! Do it!” Sara grumbles and then she catches Gloria’s eye and Gloria has her dagger raised, clearly intent on jamming it into Shane’s turned back. Sara winces, voice colored with her unhappiness as she suddenly (and rather swiftly) darts by, “I’ll take care of creepy knife lady!”

Sara flicks her wrist and a portal wobbles forward, impacting Gloria’s wrist. The demon cries out and looks more than a little pissed as Sara tackles her to the ground. There’s a sharp yelp as Sara does her best to avoid the other woman’s blows and then she opens a portal, pushing both of them through it.

They’re gone and that leaves Ryan alone. Alone to face down a stony-faced Shane. Ryan swallows and feels twelve different shades of stupid. What the fuck is he supposed to do now? Ricky Goldsworth? Why the fuck did Sara say-?

Shane lets out another one of those weird, awful sounds and swoops towards Ryan. Ryan cries out a tight ‘Jesus Christ!’ as he does his best to avoid whatever the hell his friend has planned. Ryan’s pretty sure he feels Shane’s claws fucking clip the top of his head and oh, that is _it_!

“SHANE!” Ryan’s voice is loud. Commanding. Shane is still aloft in the air but he stops, turns, looks, and Ryan gets to his feet, brushing himself off as he points to the ground in front of him, “Here! Now!”

Fuck.

Did he just-? Did he just order Shane like he’s a disobedient dog? Why not just say ‘heel’? But Ryan doesn’t budge. He maintains his posture, his expression and it’s…surprisingly easy. It’s like he doesn’t feel any fear at all. Here he is – staring down a red eyed demon, staring down the very idea that used to wake him up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night and he’s just…not afraid.

Maybe it’s because it’s Shane. Maybe it’s because half of his soul is gone. Maybe it’s because he’s channeling Ricky. Whatever it is, it’s enough of a driving force that Shane actually listens. He lands not far from Ryan and oh. Shit. What now?

The weight of the satchel is suddenly present and there’s a stake in there. Or more like an industrial strength syringe. And Ryan has to stab Shane with it. How the hell is he going to go about doing that? And on that note, why isn’t he more upset by the idea? Ryan feels like he was more torn up about it when it was first presented to him.

But at this moment? Half souled? It just seems…logical.

It’s as if there’s no real emotion attached to the idea of the act. It’s like all those times where he made straight faced jokes about straight up murdering Shane. Shooting him, watching him drown. But those had been jokes. This is _real_. Real and Ryan knows he should feel more about it. But he _doesn’t_. Just like he hasn’t felt much of anything since they got here and Shane’s waiting and god knows how long his patience will last.

Ryan walks steadily closer to him, dark eyes intense, “You listen to me, spider legs! You’ve been running around, making a menace of yourself, well, no more. You understand?”

No reaction.

“Did I whisper?” Ryan asks, voice hot and clipped, “I asked if you understood me.”

His answer is a head tilt. It’s enough. Ryan gets in his personal space now, looks up at him, but somehow feels _taller_ , “Good. All of this started because you were making the decisions, but now? That’s changed, buddy boy. _I’M_ in charge. You’re going to do what _I_ say.”

Ryan raises a finger to point in his face, “I make the decisions from here on out. Got it?”

Head tilt in the opposite direction, but Shane hasn’t moved or attacked, which Ryan takes as a good sign. Also there’s…there’s sort of thrill to this. To holding the leash of something so deadly and no, no – he should not be thinking like that, what the fuck? Ryan clicks open the satchel and he’s about to draw out the stake when Shane reacts.

It’s as if he senses what’s inside, what Ryan plans to do, and he lets out another of his eerie, demonic cries. He lunges and Ryan, still having the holy water pistol in one hand, fires. The water hits Shane’s face and sizzles, burning him. Shane flies right over him, claws slashing blindly, and Ryan tosses the gun to one side and then?

Then it all…it all happens so _fast_.

Ryan tosses the gun aside, draws the stake out of the satchel and turns to face Shane. Shane, disoriented from the water, stands there, staggering on his long legs as Ryan lets out a wild cry, charges forward, and – with all his strength – thrusts the stake right into his friend’s chest. His thumb jabs at the plunger hard and he’s…he’s holding Shane.

Ryan’s holding Shane in his arms and Ryan’s just run him through. He’s _stabbed_ him. He’s still got his hand wrapped around the weapon, the one he plunged into Shane’s chest. Shane’s chin is on Ryan’s shoulder and Ryan’s holding him up and that’s when Ryan’s emotions return in full force, washing over him.

“ _Oh_ _god_ ,” the words squeak out of Ryan’s constricted throat, his eyes water. And Shane’s eyes are _wide_. They’re large, disbelieving circles. The tiniest fleck of blood rests on his bottom lip and his whole body quivers, shudders, around the point where he’s been impaled. His long limbs are useless, doll-like, and Ryan’s are the exact opposite. His legs are granite, his arms steel. He’s got Shane clutched to him like a favorite toy that’s been damaged and his voice cracks on a tiny whisper, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Shane lets out a breath. It’s a shuttering, heavy mess. A struggle. It’s broken. Like he is. It seems impossible, but somehow Ryan tugs Shane deeper into his embrace. He buries his face in Shane’s neck and his words are painted with absolute anguish, “I never wanted to hurt you…I never…”

He stops, starts again. Pleading. Begging, “But you need a soul. Take mine…”

Ryan closes his eyes, burrows closer,  becomes Shane’s second skin, “Please. Come back to me.”

With the way he’s holding Shane, with his eyes closed, he isn’t witness to the change. Ryan doesn’t watch as Shane’s eyes turn from red to white to black to…human. He doesn’t see Shane’s wings, tail, horns, and claws slowly lose their indigo hue. Doesn’t see the indigo melt away, shadows disappearing as if under a bright sun as they resume their normal red. Ryan doesn’t _see_ any of this.

Instead he hears –

“Ryan?”

The question, the name, is spoken with an achingly familiar voice, one that sounds rusty from disuse, and this time Ryan _does_ sob. He hugs Shane even closer and now his limbs go limp. The two of them end up on their knees in the cemetery, clinging to one another and Shane still sounds like he’s just learning to speak, tone so hoarse, “Are you…crying?”

“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan manages, half amusement, half extra sob, because _yes, yes, please, god, finally_ , “Just shut up.”

“Oh, Ryan…” Shane manages with weak exasperation, “What did you do?”

 _Nothing I wouldn’t do again_ , Ryan thinks, clutching Shane harder, _nothing I regret_.


	6. Chapter 6

This is how Sara finds them.

Together, on their knees, clinging to one another, faces masks of misery. Which…is not what she was expecting? Frankly, once she dumped crazy knife lady, she figured she’d come back to something else entirely. Something sickly sweet, but also kind of ‘aww’ worthy. Heck, she’d even planned to draw out her phone and cue up some romantic tune.

Something very cinematic and over the top. Whitney Houston, Bryan Adams, something along those lines. Now? Now she’s not sure what the hell to play. Should it be something sad? Why the fuck would it be sad? This should be a happy thing. And, okay, maybe not _super_ happy, because Ryan ripped his soul in half and Shane’s been out a couple of weeks as a murder-hungry monster, but still.

The point is – this isn’t what she signed up for. So, she walks over and clears her throat, hoping to break them up in a way that doesn’t seem too abrupt. Shane responds first, croaking, “Sara?”

“The one and only.”

He blinks, “Actually, Sara’s a pretty common name.”

“Yeesh! No love lost, huh?” she chews the inside of one cheek, “Maybe me and Ryan shouldn’t’ve brought you back.”

“Just jokin’,” he manages and she breathes in through her nose, “Not one of your best.”

“Rusty.”

“Yeah, you sound it,” she comes closer and her eyes grow saucer big, “Holy shit! Ryan!”

Ryan looks up at her and he looks as if he’s just noticed her arrival. She gestures to him, “He’s still got the stake in him!”

Ryan looks down at his hand wrapped around the stake. He then looks back at her. _Idiot_ , she avoids shouting (barely) instead growling, “Take it out!”

His palm moves gingerly over the end, “But-but if I-if-?”

Sara knows what he’s getting at. Usually, if a person is impaled, the last thing you should do is remove the object. But Shane’s not a person, or at least not a human one, and she gets closer to them, “For god’s sake, _I’ll_ do it.”

With little to no grace, she yanks the stake out. Shane grunts, bows inward. The hand Ryan had been holding the stake with immediately flies over the spot where the stake struck, presses hard against it, his expression panicked, but Sara just crosses her arms, “He’ll be fine. He’s a demon. He’ll heal quicker without that impeding him.”

Ryan must recognize it as true when Shane doesn’t drop dead. His hand also moves reflexively and she’s sure he _feels_ the wound closing. She eyes the stake thoughtfully, “Looks like it struck true. It certainly feels empty.”

Her eyes shift to Shane and she wonders idly if the soul took, if it will root properly within him or if he’ll reject it. _Please, let him take it_ , her thoughts murmur as she tucks the stake into her jacket, making a mental note to properly dispose of it.

Sara looks at them again. They’re still close to one another, still eyeing one another, still not talking. But…she can feel it. The emotion there. The intensity. Part of her feels…sad about that. Regretful. Ah, but for another life. One where she’s in Ryan’s place. But then again, maybe not. They have an uphill battle ahead of them, don’t they?

Pushing past her sudden onset of melancholy, she taps one hand at Ryan’s back, “You alright?”

He nods and rises slowly, helps Shane get to his feet too. Ryan looks at her with concern, “Gloria?”

“Montreal,” she squints, “Maybe Quebec? Canada though, _definitely_ Canada.”

“Is she-?”

“She’s fine. I didn’t help her at her attempted assisted suicide any more than, well,” she waves at Shane who doesn’t respond. He looks…awful. It’s been ages since she’s seen him and he’s never looked like this. Exhausted. Dirty. She comes closer, takes a sniff, “Yikes! You reek!”

“No love lost, huh?” he shoots back, but there’s a phantom of a smile and yes, that’s what she was going for. Seeing it makes her feel slightly better and she looks to Ryan, “Ready to go home?”

He nods and she summons a portal. She gestures to it and Ryan takes one of Shane’s hands in his, threads their fingers together and leads him through. Shane looks down at their joined hands in complete puzzlement and Sara’s…really worried about what that means. But, as of right now, it’s none of her business.

She follows them through the portal and once on the other side, she closes it.

 

+

 

Ryan knew his place was a mess, but now he’s a little more self-conscious about it. When Sara had been here, he’d been too tired to care. But with Shane back, with Shane able to see it again, he recognizes it for the dump it’s become. He wishes he could have had Sara take them to Shane’s place, but never having been there herself, it makes such a journey impossible.

She drops them off, promises to visit soon, and then is gone in a flash. Obviously wanting to give them time alone. But now that they are alone, Ryan finds he doesn’t know what to do. So much of his recent life has been focused on getting Shane back that now that he has it, he’s unsure as to what his next move should be.

And Shane…he looks hollowed out. Disoriented. Even more than when he was running around doing the Void’s bidding. It’s not like Ryan expected them to return and act as if nothing happened. But he expected…god, he doesn’t know, to be honest. But he expected…something. He thought everything would click into place somehow.

Foolish. Childish. But there it is. Ryan waves a hand, “Um, welcome back.”

Shane just nods.

Ryan’s never felt more awkward. He scratches behind one ear, “Sorry the place is such a pigsty.”

He half expects Shane to ‘oink’ or make some stupid joke of some kind. When he doesn’t, Ryan feels even more out of place. Shane wobbles on his feet and Ryan steps closer, ready to offer physical support if need be. When he gets closer, he gets a real whiff of him and, “Ew.”

The word leaves unbidden and Shane’s eyes slide to his. Ryan looks a little abashed, “Um, Sara’s not wrong. You could go with a shower.”

Still no words. Ryan can’t take this silence. He just links his fingers with Shane’s again, draws him to the restroom. Shane goes so easily, led like a sullen child, and Ryan wishes he could break this strange spell that seems to have settled over them. Their rhythm is so off. He goes into the restroom, clicks on the light and he has the strangest sense of déjà vu.

Or, well, not déjà vu, so much as a distinct, clear memory. Himself in this very room, freaking out over Shane’s reveal of his demonic nature. His pushing Shane to sit as he dressed his wounded nose, the one Ryan clocked. It feels like a lifetime ago. Ryan checks to make sure there are towels – shampoo, conditioner, soap, wash cloths.

All are in place and ready to use and he turns to Shane. Shane, who still has his wings, horns, and tail on full display. Shane, who has dried blood on his mouth, his shirt. Shane, with wild hair and empty eyes. Ryan swallows, “Do-? Do you want me to go so you can-? Can-?”

Shane just turns and silently closes the door to the restroom. Right. Okay. Ryan’s heart kicks up a notch in its beat as Shane turns back and looks at him. He looks so…so ashamed, his gaze shifting downwards as he quietly intones, “Help.”

He doesn’t need to ask twice.

Ryan reaches for Shane’s shirt. He lifts it and…oh god. No. He sucks in a breath at the sight beneath. Dried blood, scars, bruises. Ryan had thought, with his elevated healing, that Shane would have no marks whatsoever. Apparently, this is not the case. Ryan lifts his shirt higher, but it gets caught beneath his wings and Ryan looks at him, “Can you-?”

Another grunt escapes Shane and he looks pained. Ryan is seconds away from telling him to stop, but instead, Shane draws it all in. Horns, wings, tail. But it is clearly an effort. A hardship. His brow is dotted with perspiration by the end and he sags forward. Ryan helps him, holds him. He makes sure his friend doesn’t careen headfirst onto the linoleum.

He props him up and once those are gone, he easily removes Shane’s shirt, his pants and underwear. He strips him methodically, his actions clinical. Once Ryan has him naked, he clicks on the shower, fiddles with the temperature of the water until he thinks it’s an even temperature. Not too hot, not too cold. Comfortable. Moderate.

He eases back the curtain, motions for Shane to enter, but the demon shakes his head. He still can’t meet Ryan’s eyes, his words even lower if possible, “With me.”

Ryan understands. Hell, he welcomes it. He could use a shower himself. He nods, not sure if Shane even catches the movement, the way he’s looking down so much. Ryan kicks off his shoes, peels off his shirt, his pants. Once nude, he climbs into the shower and Shane follows suit.

The shower isn’t exactly two people-friendly, but they manage to squeeze in. Ryan makes sure Shane gets the brunt of the water’s blast and the resultant sound proves the decision to be the right one. It’s like the demon is being born again, revitalized, he ducks his head under the stream of water as if it’s the most grateful of blessings.

The way dirt and other questionable grime trails off of him. Ryan can understand why. He grabs a washcloth and soaks it quickly before working up a lather with a bar of soap. He rubs it along Shane’s back, his sides. His actions aren’t sexual, they’re beneficial. Necessary. He scrubs gently, tenderly, exposing more pale flesh beneath the layers of filth.

Ryan doesn’t know why he didn’t notice before how unkempt Shane was, but it makes sense. He highly doubts the Void was all that consumed with basic hygiene. As he works, Ryan can’t help but notice the changes.

The last time he and Shane shared a shower it had been fun, sexy. This is much more somber. It’s also telling. Shane’s body is so… _thin_. Yes, yes – he’s always been thin, but not like this. He’s practically a skeleton, limbs coltish, and the scars…Ryan can’t help but trail his fingers over certain spots.

Along one of Shane’s legs, a bumpy canvas that makes Ryan think he was dragged along asphalt. His right rib cage – four distinct claws marks. They’re dug deep. Very, very deep. Healed, but recent, still lightly purple. When he touches here, Shane shivers, moves skittishly beneath his touch. Ryan pushes past that, finds his left bicep - flesh raised, textured, by god only knows what. Scabs decorate the demon’s neck, his shoulders, his back and his chest…fuck, his _chest_.

That’s where Ryan stabbed him. Right dead center. The wound itself is closed, but there’s this hideous, starfish looking mark. And from it? A spiderweb of violet red veins. Veins to show how it hurt and Ryan runs the cloth here the most, as if he can wash away his actions. He must get lost in doing that, because eventually Shane’s hand rises up, covers his.

Shane looks at him, water dancing over the top of his head like rain, droplets sticking to his eyelashes. Ryan clears his throat as he looks at him and the space around them feels…tighter somehow. Confined. Shane moves carefully, fluidly, “Your turn.”

He and Ryan swap places and _ohhhh_ ….

Ryan’s sure he moans because the water feels so _good_. And then Shane’s doing what Ryan did. He has his own wash cloth and he works up a lather and is carefully, systematically, bathing him. It’s a weird thing. Ryan feels like, in any other context, this would be a laugh riot for them. A big joke.

But in this instance? It’s crucial. Symbolic. The past few weeks wash away, they swirl down the drain. They’re peeling back the scales, removing the masks – they’re returning to what they once were, what lies beneath. Well, not entirely. Too much time, too much change. But…closer. Better. Certainly cleaner and, once satisfied, Ryan clicks off the water.

He draws back the curtain and grabs the towels. He hands one to Shane, takes one for himself. They dry off as best as they can, hair still damp as they exit. They wander into Ryan’s bedroom and he’s about to say something, words on the tip of his tongue. Things like – I think I can dig up something for you to wear. Or, how do you want to do this? Or, we should get some sleep. Or, are you hungry or-or…so many, many options.

They stumble over one another in his mind, none of them quick enough to make it out of his mouth and words don’t really matter anyways, because Shane just – crawls into Ryan’s bed. He strips off the towel, tosses it to one side and disappears beneath the covers and sheets. He wraps his arms around one pillow, buries his face into it and _breathes_.

Ryan hears him draw in a lungful and, for the oddest reason, it makes Ryan’s cheeks heat. Is…is Shane breathing his scent in? What a ridiculous thing to think. What is he? A prepubescent teenager? He shakes his head to himself and there should be banter. Dumb remarks, that silly back and forth. But there’s nothing. Because they’re speaking without speaking.

It’s animalistic. Instinctual. Comfort. Rest. Peace. Elemental needs, basic drives and Ryan finds himself dropping his own towel as he carefully gets beneath the sheets and blankets on the other side of the bed. This is so bizarre. They’re both naked. Water from the shower still drying on their bodies and, again, none of this is in any way sexual. But it _is_ intimate.

Fragile.

A moment that feels brittle, surreal, and Ryan has never shared a bed with Shane like this. The big guy can barely fit on his mattress, long legs drawn up, his face still buried in the pillow. Ryan lies rigidly on his back, eyes up on the ceiling and then, then he throws one arm over them, because – god. _God_.

It’s like a flashflood. All the emotions, the memories, the time. Fuck, so much has happened. And now Shane is back. He’s _back_. He’s back and he’s right next to Ryan and there’s an unseen pressure on Ryan’s chest. It pushes down, squeezes him. He has no idea what it is. Relief? Sorrow? Some combination of the two?

Shouldn’t he feel elation? He was victorious. He got what he wanted. But…he’s lost something and he knows it. Before, when he’d been firing on all cylinders, he hadn’t felt it. But in this moment, in this moment, he recognizes the…the cavity inside him. The empty space. His own personal void. Great. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so goddamn tragic.

Then he feels Shane shifting on the mattress and he lowers his arm. Shane is up on one elbow, looking at him. Again, no words, but his eyes…

Ryan rolls to his side, rolls to face Shane better. He opens his arms and Shane ducks right into them. He wraps his long arms around Ryan, nestles his face into Ryan’s chest. His lengthy frame practically curls in on itself, form something close to a fetal position as he just…hugs Ryan close. He becomes an inverted little spoon and Ryan buries his lips into Shane’s hair, presses little kisses into his scalp over and over.

Neither of them say the words. They don’t even necessarily think them. But the actions, the idea, is clear.

We’re safe. We’re home.

 

+

 

For once, Ryan sleeps.

He sleeps deep.

No dreams. Nothing. Occasionally his eyes open and he sees Shane near him. They both change positions throughout the night, the day. Ryan doesn’t have a good concept of the exact time save the changes of color in the light. It’s dark, it’s dimly lit, it’s a bright, it’s dark again. Their eyes open, they close, they roll over. Neither of them makes much sound and Ryan knows they’re capable of that.

Again, having slept near one another before for location shoots, there’s been sounds. Snores, weird whimpers, the occasional fart – it’s just a fact – people (and demons) don’t sleep pretty. Sleeping Beauty has to be one of the greatest fairy tales of all time for how unrealistic it is. Drooling, snorting, odd fidgeting – that’s how sleep _really_ goes.

Except in this instance, but it’s probably because they’re both just so bone deep _exhausted_. They sleep like the dead. Save for one moment. One awful moment where Ryan wakes blearily to hear something from the restroom. A sound recognizable to anyone, but particularly to someone who was very much a frat-sorta guy in college.

Retching. Deep seated vomiting that normally correlates with partying too hard, drinking too much. He gets to his feet clumsily, confused for a moment as to why he’s naked. The memories are slow to come. He stumbles to his dresser, draws out a pair of boxers, pulls them on, then makes his way to the restroom. The vomiting growers louder in pitch and sleepily, dumbly, Ryan wanders in.

Shane’s bent over the toilet, clutching the bowl as his body heaves. There’s not much left in him. The disgusting sound of his stomach’s contents hitting the water minimal. Ryan reaches for him but Shane holds up a hand, pushes at the air near him. Stay back. The action is clear. Ryan does as requested.

The demon lets out a pitiful moan, fumbles for the handle of the toilet and flushes all the mess away. He falls back against the nearby wall, looking clammy and uncomfortable. He has a washcloth nearby and he wipes at his mouth even as Ryan fishes out a nearby cup. He fills it with water. Waits. When Shane doesn’t come over, he holds it out.

His friend looks at it with glassy brown eyes before slowly rising, legs wobbly, uncoordinated. Ryan also offers his mouthwash. Shane takes both, shoots him a look and there it is, speaking again without words. Get out.

Ryan does. He turns and leaves and it doesn’t bother him, because he gets it. No one likes having someone around when they’ve just puked. It’s one of those things you like to keep to yourself. This biological hiccup that makes you feel exposed, humiliated. He goes back to the bed, climbs into it and waits. He’s growing more cognizant as the minutes pass and, for a time, he worries Shane won’t come back.

He’s just about to get to his feet when Shane returns. He’s still starkly nude and the sight of it makes Ryan’s entire body heat some. He’s just so…natural. Blatant about it. But it’s not like Ryan really has anything lying around that will work on Shane. And he’s not sure if he should offer it right now, because offering it means speaking and now that they haven’t spoken for some time…

There’s no need for his worries though. Shane just gets back into the bed, air leaving him in a rush as he closes his eyes, swallows. The scent of mouthwash is all over him, minty and vaguely stringent. Ryan edges closer, closer. Their arms bump. Shane rolls over, offers Ryan his back. Ryan tries not to look too deeply into that. He rolls onto his side, presses himself along Shane’s back, lets his lips wander idly over a shoulder blade. 

Shane doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t stiffen. That’s good…right? Ryan’s arms loop around him, offer a squeeze. One of Shane’s hands find his. Pats it. Satisfied, Ryan gives into sleep again.

 

+

 

The next time Ryan wakes, Shane is gone.

But this time, there’s no sounds of him in another room. Ryan gets out of bed, pulls on a shirt, jeans. He starts searching his apartment, expecting to see some sight of him. But there’s nothing. No note, no texts or missed calls, nothing out of place. Panic rapidly sets in. Where is he? Did Ryan dream all of it? With the way his sleep has been of late…

It’s always felt so real. Is that what last night was? Some cruel joke? Some lucid dream? His breathing accelerates, eyes wild and he rushes to the front door, opens it, because hey, maybe Shane is just outside in the hallway. He peeks out, sees nothing but empty hall. He curses, slams it shut, goes back to his phone and shit, shit, who should he call first? What the fuck should he do? What-?

Ideas cascade, worries mount and then he hears the front door knob jiggle. Ryan turns and there’s Shane, standing in the doorway. He looks…normal. Fine. Himself. He has a cardboard tray with two cups of coffee, a brown paper bag from some bakery and he’s…dressed.

He has on his normal attire. Jeans, boots, colorful shirt. He shuts the door behind himself and catches sight of a harried Ryan with raised eyebrows, “Oh. You’re up.”

“I’m-?!’ Ryan can’t even manage words. Shane goes towards the tiny kitchen table, puts everything down and turns to him, “Yeah, got myself some clothes from my place. Long story, but to sum up, loads of new abilities. Also got us something to eat, because a good breakfast is the best start to any-!”

His words cut off on a hefty gust of air as Ryan clutches him close. Bear hugs him hard. Shane’s arms waver uselessly. He doesn’t hug back. Ryan doesn’t give a shit, “Thank fuck! Jesus, not even a note?”

He hugs even tighter (if possible) and just as Shane’s about to touch his back he pulls away, surges up, kisses him. Ryan presses his lips to Shane’s and it’s…odd. Uncomfortable. Shane doesn’t kiss back. This time he _does_ go rigid. The stab of hurt surprises Ryan, but he ignores it. Tries harder. He pushes futilely for something, anything. A small voice in his mind is screaming at him, asking him what the hell he thinks he’s doing.

Shane’s cues are clear.

Stop.

Ryan should _stop_. But Ryan doesn’t _want_ to stop. He doesn’t want to pull away. He doesn’t want…

The hole inside him seems to _grow_. Spread. A darkness rising over him. Recognizing that? _That’s_ what makes him finally stop. Ryan pulls back and his heart is hammering and he feels vaguely sick. Like a monster. He’s never done anything like that before. The way he was moments ago…so desperate. So hungry. So…so possessive. He doesn’t like it, he hates it, he knows the most likely culprit of it, and tries not to shudder, to worry.

Instead he sits at the table and snatches up the bag. He draws out a bagel and cream cheese and digs in. He drinks his coffee and burns his tongue and struggles for something to make things seem okay. Words seem an impossibility at the moment, so he eats and oh…god…real food! Ryan feels like he hasn’t eaten real food in ages.

He devours the first bagel and then tears into a second, a third. Shane is slower. More mechanical. He eats like he’s just learning how. They share the meal in silence until, shockingly, Shane breaks it, “How long was I gone?”

Ryan slows on his latest bagel, fingers coated in cream cheese. Shane takes a careful sip of his coffee, tries for casual, “Days? Weeks?”

Ryan doesn’t meet his eyes, instead licking the cream cheese off his fingers before taking another bagel. He keeps eating and Shane sighs, “So. Months.”

The coffee’s cooled enough for Ryan to drink it easy now. His eyes skirt Shane, “Not many.”

A nod and Shane takes another bagel, long fingers tearing the fluffy ring apart, “I take it our jobs are gone then.”

Ryan shakes his head stiffly and Shane just gestures with the bits of bagel he’s holding, “No?”

“No.”

“How-?”

“Repordata.”

Shane’s eyes always tend to look sleepy, so whenever they widen it’s an interesting look on him. He drops the pieces, wipes his hands off on one another, “Wow. I see. Clever.”

“Mal’s idea.”

“Mal?”

“Malthazor.”

“Ah,” Shane replies and the sound brings Ryan’s back up, “Hey, it was a good idea.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“Okay,” Ryan grumbles and Shane rolls his eyes, “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…your tone…”

“My tone?” Shane scoffs, “Okay, I wasn’t aware you and Mal were such good friends.”

“We’re not,” Ryan bristles, “But he’s my advisor and he advised me-”

“Yeah, I’ll just bet he did.”

Ryan slams down his take-out coffee cup, “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Shane looks equal parts tired and wired, sipping his coffee and mumbling into the plastic top, “He advise you to go looking for me?”

“And what’s so wrong with that?” Ryan snaps, “ _You’re_ the one who amended the bonding contract so I could still use him as an advisor!”

“Yes, but I didn’t think that was the advice he’d give you.”

“He didn’t,” appetite completely gone, Ryan shoves aside his food, his drink. He crosses his arms and glares at his demon friend, “As a matter of fact, he was actively against it. Everyone was. They told me to give up on you. But I didn’t. I didn’t believe you were lost, I didn’t believe-”

“No,” Shane cuts in and his voice is annoyingly steady, placid, “You didn’t _want_ to believe. Big difference.”

The burst of air that expels from Ryan’s lungs is explosive, “Fuck you! I know what I did and didn’t believe! Don’t assume to know what the fuck is going on in my mind like we’re still bonded! Still emotionally connected! I _know_ , okay? And I know what I _still_ believe! You-you weren’t in your right mind when you-!”

“Wasn’t I?” Shane queries and he just…sips his coffee like it’s cool tea, “I remember, you know.”

Ryan falters here and Shane is gently turning the cup in his fingers, eyes on the lid, “I remember every single minute of it.”

Shane gently pushes his own cup away, leans back in his chair, one hand on the table between them, long fingers tapping the surface, “It wasn’t as if I was under a wicked spell or cursed by fairy tale magic. I wasn’t overtaken by a malevolent force when I…when I did the things I did.”

He lets out a laugh that has absolutely no joy in it, a humorless smile tipping up his lips, “You keep trying to forget what I am. Or minimize it. But I’m a _demon_ , Ryan. And demons kill, they feed, they…” he shakes his head, “I amended the contract because I didn’t want to leave you completely bereft. I mean, it’s not like you weren’t doing well on your own or anything, but it was like-?”

He shifts about in his seat, “It was like a will, you know? Leaving you my things. I would have done the same thing if I was actually human. Left you something when I passed.”

“But you didn’t pass,” Ryan glowers, “You weren’t dead. You aren’t dead now. You’re just-? Just a dumbass!”

This announcement is what finally slips some heat into Shane’s words, brown eyes lighting up with fire, “Dumbass, huh? Alright, well, who’s the dumbass who rendered their soul, huh?”

Ryan doesn’t back down from the glare. If anything, it feeds the anger that’s been simmering in him since this conversation started, “I did what I had to.”

“Christ! NO! You didn’t! You-!” Shane lets out his own explosive exhale as he sits back, rubs at his eyes in frustration, “This _isn’t_ what you were supposed to do, Ryan! This isn’t what I wanted!”

“Oh really? Then why the dreams?” is the automatic retort and Shane looks so nonplussed that Ryan explains in a patronizing voice, “The ones you sent me every night. The glimpses into your past. The clues…”

“I didn’t do that,” Shane breathes and he looks a little haunted. Ryan’s somewhat unsettled by that, but he presses on, “No? You’re telling me I wasn’t tormented every night with lucid nightmare dreams by you?”

“No, you’re weren’t,” Shane confirms, looking horrified, “My god…what did you see? What did you-?”

He stops and starts again, “It doesn’t matter. Whatever you saw – I would never want you to see that. Any of it. It’s my life. My past. My business. Okay? When I did what I did…I did it to protect you. I did it because I wanted you to move on with your life! I wanted you to go back to work, to your friends, to-!”

“YOU’RE my friend!” Ryan shouts and Shane just laughs that stupid laugh again, “Your friend who lies to you? Your friend who watched you covertly behind your back for a job? Your friend who forced you into a bond – a fucking _marriage_ – against your will? A friend who is a goddamn DEMON?!”

“Like I didn’t do shit to you against your will?” comes out in a nasty snarl that’s Ryan never heard himself make, “Or did I _not_ force half my soul on you? Did I not just fucking _stab_ it into you? Inject it like goddamn heroin!”

“No! Stop, you didn’t-!”

Now Ryan makes the gross laugh, “Well, you said you remember it! Every second and _that’s_ what I goddamn DID. What? Ryan Bergara is human, he has a soul, so he’s too much of a golden boy to do fucked up shit?!”

Shane looks like this is exactly the case and it makes Ryan sick, “Like I said - I did what I had to! I did what I had to, because I refused to give up on you, because, because,” he waves his hands, “because I wanted to. Because what I want is more important than, than-!”

He shakes his head, rakes his teeth across his upper lip, “I’m selfish, alright? Just like you. I couldn’t let you go. I _wouldn’t_ let you go. You made a fucking sacrifice for me. One I didn’t ask you to make. Just like you didn’t ask me to do what I did, but we BOTH did it, because we can’t, we can’t…”

Ryan closes his eyes, tries to calm down, tries to breathe, “You didn’t want to be responsible for my death. That’s what started all of this. You said it yourself. You couldn’t go on without me. What makes you think it’s any different for me? You think _I_ can go on without _you_? You think our package deal only works one way? I mean, Jesus!”

He opens his eyes, pins him with a defiant stare, “Why are you asking me to apologize for saving you?”

“Ryan…”

“You told me not to make you apologize for saving me. The bond, the Void, all of that shit…I never blamed you for it. But this?” the huff of air that leaves Ryan is low, sad, “You’re blaming me for this? For giving you half of my soul?”

“I don’t blame you,” Shane argues, “I’m just…?”

“Angry?”

“No.”

“Disappointed?”

“No, no, just…” Shane’s own fury is fading, cooling, becoming more morose, “Upset. I’m _upset_. I knew what you did when I first…” he runs a hand through his hair, “I could _see_ the change. The…absence in you.”

Ryan’s gaze turns down. He’s never had many issues with his self-esteem, never worried about his looks before. But in this moment, he feels…unattractive. Lacking. The awfulness of it creeps over him and colors his response, “Sorry.”

“No,” Shane murmurs, “Don’t…don’t be sorry. That’s not what I-?”

Silence comes between them. Unhappy, overwhelming silence. It sits, lodged between them. Immovable for some time until Shane pushes it slightly, “When I bonded you, it was to save your life. But I knew there was a chance of breaking it. This? What you’ve done?”

His own eyes close, “There’s no breaking it. Half of your soul is _gone_. And it always will be. You’re tied to me now, Ryan. For the rest of your life. Do you understand that? Do you even know what you’ve given up? Lost? You’re…”

Shane’s eyes open and he can’t look at Ryan, “I want more for you. I want you to marry someday, have kids someday…and-and you can still have those things, but-but I don’t-? I don’t know if they’ll mean the same. _Feel_ the same. I wanted you to stay fully souled and human. I wanted you to live your life and now? Now I just…don’t know if it’ll be what I wanted it to be. What it should be.”

“And what about what I want?” Ryan cuts in and Shane finally does look at him. Their eyes lock and they just stare at one another. Stare and stare but Shane is the first to look away, “Ryan…”

“We started something…” Ryan whispers and Shane swallows thickly, “That’s just it, Ryan. We’d _just_ started. We never-? It wasn’t-?”

“What was it to you?” Ryan asks softly, voice trembling, “Was it anything? If…if we’d defeated the Void, if none of this had ever happened…if-if we’d had the chance to just-?”

“I don’t know,” Shane confesses, sounding miserable beyond comprehension, “We were friends.”

“We’re _still_ friends,” Ryan presses and Shane just looks at him, “Are we?”

“Shane…”

“I…don’t know what we are now, to be honest,” Shane swallows again, his own eyes glistening, “It doesn’t feel like friends. But it…it doesn’t feel like anything else either. Co-workers, maybe?”

“Co-?” the word can’t even come out of Ryan’s throat. It’s choked. Lost in the thickness of his throat, as if his own body finds the idea too insulting to speak.

Shane slowly gets to his feet. His hands disappear into his pockets, “A lot’s happened, Ryan. So much. Too much. We both need time. Space.”

“Space?” it comes out in an incredulous laugh, one even uglier than all the ones that’ve come before, “We’ve-? I’ve spent days…weeks… _months_ without you. Looking for you. I spent all of it searching and searching and now that I’ve just got you back, you want space?”

Shane doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look at him. So Ryan gets to his feet and goes to the front door. He opens it and waves, “Fine. Take it. Take your fucking space.”

“Ryan...”

“Get out,” Ryan shakes his head, “Just…just get out.”

Shane does. And the very moment the door is shut, the very moment he’s gone, Ryan punches the dry wall next to him. Hard. His fist goes right through it. He shakes it out, knuckles bleeding. He turns and his back falls hard against the door. The one Shane just left through.

Ryan slowly descends to the floor, knees huddling up close to his chin, face soaking wet. Anger and grief and confusion all roll over one another, a scrambled mess in his mind as he sits there and just…suffers.

Suffers until he falls into a doze. One that’s broken by a whispered, “Wakey, wakey, eggs an-!”

It cuts short as Ryan blindly swings out. He hits nothing but air, yet a voice across from him remarks dryly, “Rude.”

Ryan blinks, waking more fully to see Raziel leaning against his kitchen table. He clears his throat, grumbling, “’Course…”

“Trouble in paradise?” Raziel asks sagely as he inspects the brown paper bag. He dips his fingers inside and withdraws one of the bagels, eyeing it curiously. Ryan slowly gets to his feet. His body aches from the weird position it was in, “Fuck you want?”

“Ryan,” Raziel gasps, “Such language!”

Ryan contemplates his many options. The strongest among them is to punch Raziel in the face. The angel must sense it as he sniffs at the bagel, makes a face, “Now that your search for my brother has concluded, I thought it…prudent, we share words.”

“I’ll give you more than words…”

Raziel snorts and puts down the bagel, but he can’t seem to stop looking at it, “Ah yes, the threat of physical violence. Again. You know, were you to see me in my true form – my non-human looking one, you would be quite petrified. But, it’s beyond your comprehension, so I’ll just remark that I’ve always accredited you with being more imaginative than threatening me with mere fisticuffs.”

“Is there a point to your being here?” Ryan’s whole demeanor is flat, uninviting, “Or is this just the cap to my really shitty day?”

“I take it you’re referring to your domestic spat with Shamsiel?” Raziel crosses his arms and looks to Ryan, to the bagel, to Ryan again, “Appalling, really, the way with which he spoke to you. After all the sacrifices you’ve made on his behalf and he spurns you like that…”

“If you’re going to eat that bagel, I can help you with it,” Ryan offers roughly, “Cram it right down your throat. Might _finally_ shut you up.”

Raziel’s eyes take on a glint, “ _That’s_ the imaginative boy I know!”

“Raziel…” Ryan starts warningly but Raziel just waves his hands, “Yes, yes – the point. Well, I suppose now would be as good a time as any to inform you that it was _I_ who was responsible for your dreams.”

This revelation does draw Ryan up short, his eyes widening, “You…”

Raziel picks up the bagel, plays with it, “Hmm, I thought it might help you to understand where my dear lost sibling is coming from. Seeing his origins, the roots of his troubles,” he looks at him thoughtfully, “I felt it important to keep you…motivated on your quest.”

Now he licks the bagel, grimaces like it personally offended him, yet still doesn’t drop it, “Albeit you didn’t necessarily succeed in the way you pictured. No rescuing the princess from the tower, slaying the dragon to ride off into the proverbial sunset…and sunset,” he looks at Ryan, “That best describes you now. Half souled…you still burn so bright, but with this…dying light. Yes, a sunset, that’s what you are.”

“Are you flirting with me?” the question is asked with such exhaustion that Raziel laughs, “My goodness, no. No. Although I can see how it could be taken as such.”

“Thought you said you were getting to the point.”

“I am, I am,” Raziel promises, “The prophecy…”

“Shit,” Ryan draws out the word, “That’s the last thing I want to-!”

“It’s incomplete,” Raziel cuts in smoothly, “Alys’s words were that Shane would be the last of his name. There are still, approximately, twenty-two Madej cabal members left. Shane not included.”

“So?”

“So?” Raziel laughs again, “I thought the answer obvious.”

It’s not and Ryan’s sure his face shows that, because Raziel just shakes the bagel at him like he’s a teacher scolding a student with a ruler, “You, my dear boy. You are something of a demon hunter, are you not?”

“You-you want _me_ to smite them?” Ryan scoffs and Raziel claps his hands as if his student finally gave him the right answer. As if to celebrate, he bites into the bagel. He makes a face and quickly scoops up a napkin, spitting into it and mumbling under his breath about ‘human food’ even as Ryan lets out a bitter chuckle, “You can’t be serious…”

“Oh, but I am,” Raziel pushes the used napkin aside and stands up straight, hands behind his back and he looks…rather devilish, “Because if you think the remaining members of the cabal are not going to seek vengeance for their fallen, you’re dead wrong.”

He walks over to Ryan, towers over him, suddenly tall and terrifying, “They’ll come for Shane. And when they do…”

“Why should I care?” Ryan chokes out, his thoughts immediately circling back to Shane’s request for space. Calling them ‘co-workers’. Raziel’s eyes dart about his face, “See, that is the saddest part of our tale. You _do_ care, Ryan. Despite your soul being split, you still care for him.”

Ryan can’t deny it. Raziel actually softens some, a little of the otherworldliness of him dropping away, “Don’t be fooled. He cares as well. He’s just…struggling. He’ll come ‘round.”

“I…” Ryan starts but doesn’t know what to say and suddenly Raziel’s back to being all slickly inhuman, “You’ve seen Adamox. I made sure you did. You witnessed him. Does he seem the type who’ll let Shane go without some recompense?”

This is finally something easy to answer, “No.”

“No. And besides…” Raziel looks him over, “Demon hunting suits you.”

“I never really…”

“Oh tosh,” Raziel coos with a waved hand and he draws back from Ryan, “You hunted demons and ghosties long before dear Shane revealed his true identity.”

“Shane said that was all bullshit.”

“Well, the _locations_ may have been bullshit, but the idea behind it?” Raziel grins, “This is what you were meant to do, Ryan Bergara. You are, after all, a believer, are you not? You hunt for evidence, the truth and – if within those searches – you take out a few wayward monstrosities, all the better, hmm?”

Ryan lets those words sink in and Raziel looks over him with a frown, “Truly, I can take this no longer…”

He waves a hand over Ryan and Ryan feels…warm. Warm all over. But especially along his face. He rubs one hand over his jaw and…it’s smooth. The weeks of stubble are gone. He looks at his hand, the one that punched the wall and it’s fully healed. Raziel is triumphant as he walks back to the kitchen table to eye the bagels once more before turning his nose up at them, “In a few days, you and Shane will return to your former occupations. You’ll yet again go about researching ghosts and demons, filming at locations, but,” he holds up one finger, “You’ll find the list of ideas provided to you to be, dare I say, heavenly sent.”

Ryan just shoots daggers at him as he spreads his hands, “You’ll make your little Buzzfeed videos, as always, but – once the cameras are off – you’ll…excuse yourself and go about your business. _Our_ business. Equipment and the like shall be provided, all that is required from you is a strong constitution. A hunter’s sense. Things which you already possess, no?”

Ryan doesn’t answer, but he thinks over it, thinks over Raziel’s words and his meltdown with Shane and…yeah. Hunting demons actually sounds pretty good right about now. It sounds…right. And while he doesn’t say this to Raziel, the angel’s grin grows damn near Cheshire cat length and then the thunder rumbles, the soft noise of feathers sounds and the angel disappears.


	7. Chapter 7

Anger. Hunger. Pain. Hatred.

Impulse. Desire. Need. Instinct.

That’s what it was like. For all that time. There were no cohesive, clear thoughts. There was no mundane, human attributes. The little things that mark humanity were gone, lost under a sea of basic drives. It was freeing, in a way. The stark nakedness of running on pure, empty adrenaline. It was always move, move, move. Go, go, go. Kill, kill, k-

A memory. Stark and vivid, of moonlight cloaking every inch of him. Eerie bluish white light and the haunting rush of a river. He knelt by water that looked liquid black in the dead of the night and dipped his claws into it and they too, looked black. But with blood. Blood, blood, so much blood. Bits of flesh, hair, bone…

Things drawn away by the water’s currents. And on the rippling surface, twin beams of burning red light. Glowing embers that represent the roaring fire within. The endless fury, the overwhelming force and the moment Shane can make out his own reflection he wakes up in a cold sweat, barely able to make it to his own bathroom before he vomits.

He heaves and heaves, but the tastes and smells still plague him. Copper and sulfur and this tinny, ionic scent that’s indescribably demonic in nature. He groans once he’s satisfied there’s nothing else left inside him and flushes. Shane pushes himself to his feet, sucks water right out of the tap of his bathroom sink.

He swishes it around his mouth a couple of times, spits, does it again. He coughs, rubs a hand along his bottom lip. _Not again. Gross_. His thoughts are still so basic. He reaches for his toothbrush. It’s still in its holder, dry as dust. He left it there in another life, one where he never expected to see it again. He grips it in fingers that feel foreign, fingers that tremble. His other hand is no better as it takes up the long-forgotten tube of toothpaste.

Shane goes through the motions and they feel unusual. Akin to déjà vu but not quite. Another life. That really is the best way to think of it. But it wasn’t another life, was it? It was the life he had before. The one he has again.

Brushing his teeth actually feels good. It’s such a common task, but he finds it comforting because, well, before he wouldn’t have even given it a second thought. It was all about the chase. It was all about the thrill. Such power…

His body quakes and it…comes apart. A little. It blurs in front of the bathroom mirror and shit, shit! He closes his eyes, breathes in deep. He’s dissipating again. Funny, the first time he did this, he wasn’t even entangled with the Void. He’d done it to get to Ryan as quickly as possible. He’d pretty much teleported right through Ryan’s closed front door to face down the Void, to save him.

Never mind the fact that right after that he’d blown Ryan’s bedroom door apart, reduced it to splinters. But that front door? He’d just…slipped past it. A new ability. One he hadn’t given much thought to. He’s always been able to slip in and out of shadows, but to actually dissolve – become smoke, ether?

That’s…new.

And, apparently, he can still do it. He blurs in and out of focus and _come on, stop, stop_. When he opens his eyes again he’s solid. Whole. Satisfied, he resumes brushing his teeth, spits, rinses, looks at himself and he’s gripping the sink so hard that the porcelain fractures. It looks like a cracked eggshell, a network of fissures forming beneath his palms.

Goddamn it.

He draws back and looks at his hands. Strength. Power. He’s brimming with it. Too much. He feels like a nuclear reactor on the verge of exploding. He’s felt that way ever since the moment he joined with the Void. But that’s…gone now. He doesn’t feel that surging malevolence in him anymore. Instead he feels…

Shane’s eyes drift down to look at his chest. The spot where Ryan struck him. The spiderwebs of veins…he runs his fingers over them. They’re healing. The veins are growing softer in hue. The vibrant violet red giving way to warmer, less visible colors and _no, no, no_. This is not what he wants! He wants to reject the soul. He wants it _out_.

He runs his nails over that spot on his chest, he claws at it. Streaks form thanks to his actions, but it’s futile. He can’t remove the soul like that, he can’t take it out of him and he feels it burning bright, hot like the rays of the sun during the height of summer. It’s part of him now, ingrained deep despite his wishes. It’s buried inside him, becoming part of him.

Fuck, that’s not what should happen! Ryan rejected the energy Shane gave him – so why is Shane taking so easily to part of Ryan’s soul?

 _You know why_ , his thoughts murmur, more complicated, more coherent, now that the Void part of him has been vanquished. And he _does_ know why. Ryan rejected awful energy, energy borne of two feral demons. Shane? On an elemental level, he’s _accepting_ part of Ryan. Jesus, he asked him…but does Ryan even _know_ what he’s really done?

Does he know how he’s actually carved open a spot in Shane’s very being? How he’s rooted himself permanently there? How half of his soul is now _Shane’s_? This is the most intimate, most invasive, most binding thing Ryan could have done. They share a _soul_. There’s no stepping back from that. No divorce, no breaking up, no escape.

They’re part of one another now and forever. Forever.

_If you want to eat my heart, turn that light on. If you want to eat Ryan’s heart, turn that light on. Our old pal, Ryan Bergara, we’re a package deal._

Hearts and package deals. Funny how something he once said as a throwaway has become so true.

This isn’t what Shane wants, what he wishes. Shane wants somehow, someway, to put everything back where it belongs. He wants to peel out the bit of soul inside him and fuse it back into Ryan. He wants to go back to the beginning, the start, where they were just two guys stumbling around decrypt places and talking about true crimes. He wants…

He wants a lot of things.

None of which he’s going to get and fuck, he called them ‘co-workers’, what the fuck was he thinking? He rubs at his forehead and hates himself at the memory of it. Yeah, he was still a bit rusty at ‘human-ing’, but even he recognizes how fucked up that was to say. Especially considering what Ryan did, what he gave up.

And Shane knows he can’t fix it. Even if he could remove the half of Ryan’s soul within him, there’s no putting it back. It’s like shattered glass. You can glue it back together, but it’ll never be like it once was. Even if you meticulously collected each piece, each shard, they’d just join together in a way that shows that, at one point, they were apart. Destroyed.

Cracks like the one he’s put into this sink. Visible. Obvious. Permanent.

Shane draws back from the bathroom and gets dressed. He wanders around his apartment, eyeing this and that. He’s restless, ill at ease with being in this place. He’s still trying to collect himself, get back to who he’s supposed to be. It’s been a few days since he’s seen Ryan, since he’s seen anyone, so the knock at the front door throws him for a loop, even more so when he sees who knocked.

He opens the door and looks right into his own face.

“Shane,” his clone says by way of greeting and he just returns it, “Shane.”

The doppelganger gives him a smirk, “Zydact, actually.”

Shane just bobs his head and steps back, allowing Zydact to enter. The repordata looks around, “Nice digs.”

“You didn’t stay here?”

A head shake, “Nah. It’s not like this place is really mine. I’ll admit I dropped in now and again, just to keep up appearances, but I mostly stayed at the studio. Calra too.”

“Take it Calra was Ryan’s replacement?”

“Hole in one,” Zydact returns and it’s…so weird. Right now Shane feels like Zydact is a better Shane than he himself is. Zydact moves towards his couch, “Mind if I sit?”

“Go for it.”

 Zydact settles in and Shane drops down next to him. Zydact clears his throat, “I’ll be honest – I didn’t expect to see you. You know, face to face.”

“Yeah,” Shane hums and Zydact is slouched, hands in his jean jacket pockets and it’s beyond eerie. A living fun house mirror with his voice, “Word came down from Malthazor that you’re taking over the reigns starting tomorrow. I’m here to catch you up on what you’ve missed in your life. Office gossip, work meetings, the like.”

“Right,” is all he can manage and the repordata starts laying it all out. Every single thing he’s been up to – that ‘Shane’s’ been up to. ‘Ryan’ too. He lays out life at Buzzfeed for the past few weeks and Shane doesn’t take notes or anything, but he soaks it all in, every word. Once Zydact wraps up, he eyes Shane thoughtfully, “You need to talk?”

A questioning sound escapes Shane’s throat and he gets an eye roll for his trouble, “Come on, man. I’m YOU. Or as you as you’re going to get. If there’s anyone’s ear to bend…”

Shane licks his lips and honestly surprises himself when he confesses, “You said it yourself – I didn’t expect to see you. I didn’t expect to see anybody.”

Zydact nods, a clear ‘continue’ and Shane actually does, “I’m guessing you know the whole story. They wouldn’t have brought you in without giving you the all the juicy details.”

“They did.”

“Then you know what I gave myself over to…” he shakes his head, tries again, “That I let myself be hosted by-”

“I know,” Zydact offers so he doesn’t have to say it, “I know.”

“So…”

“So, you didn’t expect to come back,” Zydact fills in, “You did what you thought of as your good deed. You made your sacrifice and figured, yeah, I’m giving up my life, writing myself off to a sorta suicide, but at least Ryan’ll be safe. He’ll have a future.”

“Yes!” Shane points a finger at him, “Yes! Exactly!”

“Because you love him.”

“Because I-?” Shane’s finger falls, voice trailing off as he trips over that, “No, no…”

“No?”

“No,” Shane intones and he finds it extremely annoying to see his own face give him _that_ look. That patronizing ‘you’re an idiot’ look that Shane has felt his own face make before, but never actually seen reflected back at himself. Shane shakes his head, “That’s not why I did it.”

“Oh?”

“No,” Shane growls, because Zydact has _his_ voice and he sounds so-so stupidly smug and superior and now he understands why Ryan occasionally gets fed up with him, “I did it because it was the right thing to do. Because I was responsible for the Void in the first place, the bond in the first place. And Ryan…”

He rubs at his face, “Ryan is my friend. My best friend. He didn’t deserve that. Didn’t deserve what the Void could do to him, what _I’d_ done to him. It was my way of-of, I don’t know…”

“Atonement?” Zydact offers and Shane hates that that sounds right but, damn if it isn’t accurate. So much so, he points at him once more, “Yes! That one! Atonement. It was atonement! Not love.”

“Really? You sure you’re remembering that right?” Zydact sounds so…careful now. Gentle. And Shane blinks and suddenly, it comes to him. Some of his last fucking words. _You made me believe in so many things, things I thought I’d never believe in. Friendship, happiness, ghosts…and, y’know, love. Said I’d never believe in that, but, here we are._

Shit.

Shane grumbles under his breath, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

He nods, doesn’t meet his twin’s eyes, “Love was part of it.”

“Huh, so…not _just_ co-workers…”

“Fuck!” explodes out of Shane as he knocks his head back against the couch. He glares at Zydact who looks so fucking proud of himself and Shane’s never wanted to punch his own face, “How did you-?”

“Calra went to see Ryan first,” Zydact reveals, “Ryan went back to work yesterday.”

“Yester-?” Shane can’t even finish and Zydact gets to his feet, “Ryan was the one who put the call into Mal. Ryan’s been running this train since the beginning. Y’know, for someone who’s just a human, for someone you’ve ‘inconvinced’ and ‘doesn’t deserve to be a part of this’ he’s handled it pretty damn well.”

“…I’ve never said any of that…”

“No, but you’ve thought it,” Zydact taps one side of his head, like he’s inside Shane’s mind. To be fair, he kind of is. The repordata gets to his feet and looks down on him and he’s…tall. Tall because Shane is sitting, and they’re the same height, goddamn it!

But, well, in this position, he looms over Shane and looks down at him with the same colored eyes and he uses the same voice Shane would use if he was trying to be all sage, “Y’know, you might not’ve expected to come back, but…you did. You’re back and you’re getting a second chance. That’s rare. Not something everyone gets. You…you might want to think about what you’re going to do with it.”

Shane doesn’t respond. Doesn’t get to his feet. Come to think of it, he’s a terrible host. He should have offered the guy a drink or a bite to eat or at least walked him to the door. But Shane just…sits there. He sits there and thinks over Zydact’s words.

The repordata has a hand on the knob as he looks at him, “I spent a lot of time as you. Calra spent a lot of time as Ryan. We spent a lot of time together, playing our parts and if I was you? The _real_ you?”

He opens the door, and says it over his shoulder as he leaves, “I wouldn’t take too long figuring it out.”

 

+

 

Ryan’s headset is firmly in place and he’s toying with the last video Zydact and Calra made. Calra offered to finish it up, but Ryan wants to get back into the groove of his old life. Or, not so much back to it, as reaccustomed to it. Mainly because, frankly it…doesn’t sit well. It’s like when you go back to your old high school or look through photographs of your childhood. It’s scrounging around in your memories, digging deep, trying to remember it so hard that it, well, it almost… _hurts_.

It’s this bittersweet ache, it’s time long gone. It’s moments that happened and will never happen again. That sort of nostalgic bullshit that he really, really doesn’t want to examine. To think about. It borderline makes him angry. He feels about a million years older, wiser…certainly more jaded. He fiddles with the sound on one clip when someone suddenly lifts one half of his headset and blows directly into his ear.

He yelps and jump turns to see a grinning Sara. He removes the headset entirely and narrows his eyes at her, “You.”

“Me,” she confirms with a grin and she props herself up on one edge of his desk, “Thanks again, by the by. The quick zip I gave you yesterday has made my fitting in a piece of cake.”

Ryan rubs at the side of his temple she ‘zipped’. Really she just pressed her fingertips there for a few seconds, not a word passing between them. He certainly hadn’t felt anything. But after that, the moment they’d walked into the Buzzfeed building, everyone had acted as if Sara has always been here, always been part of the crew.

“Yeah?”

She nods, “I’ve been rubbing a lot of elbows, tossing around ideas for videos – definitely a step-up profession wise. You have no idea how old it gets transporting demons and sirens and ghosts and what have you’s around and hey, _speaking_ of demons…”

“Oh no,” he grumbles tempted to just put the headset back in place, because he knows exactly what’s coming next.

“…what did Shane do?” her eyebrows are high and she looks…vaguely threatening this time. Very matriarchy. He does his best to resist, “You asked me that yesterday.”

“And I’m asking again today,” she drawls, “And I’ll ask again tomorrow and I’ll keep asking and asking and asking,” she pokes his arm on each ‘asking’ and he sighs, “Why do you think he did something?”

“Because I know him better than I know you and I know _that_ face,” using one finger she circles the air in front of said face, “I’ve _made_ that face. Shane? He cute. But he also dumb. Very dumb, sometimes. He’s a logical, intellectual individual, but he’s also, I mean, well – not ‘human’, but close. A demon. A dumb demon. A dumb humanish demon. So? Spill.”

Ryan chews the inside of one cheek and looks around. There’s no one to overhear them. Still…

“It’s…it’s stupid.”

“I’s not stupid if you’re making ‘the face’,” she air quotes this and he scratches at the back of his head. He looks around once more and, reassured no one is within ear shot, he lowers his voice and gives in because, hey, he know she’s right. Sara’ll just keep bugging him until he tells her.

Yesterday? Yesterday he hadn’t been up to it. True, it had been almost a week since their reunion. Since Shane’s…comments, but it’d still stung. Okay, okay – it _still_ stings. But today he feels up to talking about it. Maybe because he’s back at work? Huh. Maybe his old life’s not so bad after all.

Although Sara is a perfect reminder of how his life is nowhere near what it used to be, because when he reaches certain points in his story she squawks ‘what?!’ and flaps her hands. She huffs and tosses her curls everywhere and having her around is a real testament to how his life has improved from what it once was.

It’s not only the people around Buzzfeed who feel like Sara’s always been here. Ryan feels it too, because talking to her about this…man, he should have done it before now. He already feels better. Certainly heartened, especially when she cracks her knuckles and says, “Cool, cool. Alright, so – I’m gonna hit him.”

“Sara…”

“I am,” she balls her tiny hands into fists, rolls them like a bad prize fighter, “I’m going to clock him right in his rat face.”

“Rat-?” Ryan wheezes, “He doesn’t-!”

“Ry, he’s sexy, but in a Rat King-ish way – you can admit it. Guy’s got a ratty face.”

Ryan is chuckling so hard he has tears in the corners of his eyes, which he wipes away, “Holy shit, Sara…”

“More like _Clara_. I’ll be Clara, you be the Nutcracker,” she presses one finger to her lips, “Now for the rest of the cast…”

“Isn’t-isn’t it ‘Mouse’ King?”

“Eh, potato, potahto,” her response is so glib, he snorts, “I-I didn’t know you were such a fan of Russian ballets…”

She gives a slim, one shoulder shrug, “I’m a classy gal.”

“Let me guess, you’re not referencing the ballet, so much as some animated version of it…”

She bows in a bit, looks so guilty he can’t help but laugh again as she mutters, “Fine, fine. You caught me. Better that around the holidays than the normal Christmas claptrap.”

“You don’t seem the Christmas type.”

“Probably ‘cause I’m Jewish,” she says and at his look she grins, “What? You’ve never heard of a Jewish, half demon portal jockey-turned-video producer?”

Ryan just shakes his head and she sighs, “Hey, what can I say? I wear many hats.”

There’s movement behind her and he sits up a little straighter. It’s Shane. It’s Shane and he looks…so out of place. Ryan’s heart goes out to him immediately and he has to mentally drag it back because – no. The big guy was such a jerk last time they talked. He can’t give in right away. Or at all. No, Ryan, no.

But…he looks so…kid-at-his-first-day-of-school awkward. All that height is hunched in, emphasizing more than ever how he’s about eighty percent leg. And his face is so sheepish and uncomfortable. Someone walks up to him, chats a bit, and he looks like he’s drowning. Sara turns to look at Shane too and she has a similar expression cross her face.

One of worry. One of telling herself _not_ to worry. He’s got on a rumpled, button up shirt and his jeans are all skinny and Ryan…fuck, Ryan wants to run to him like some shit out of ‘Officer and a Gentlemen’. Fuck. No. Stop. He resolutely turns back to his computer, puts his headset on and tries to focus. Never mind he won’t be able to focus for long, because Shane’s desk is right next to his. Shane comes over and eyes Sara with some surprise.

Ryan can’t hear their exchange, forcing his attention on his computer screen. On his work. The sound, he needs to adjust the sound. But he can’t help himself. Out of the corner of his eyes he can catch Sara’s glare, can catch her pointing to him, and then pointing to Shane. And then she does the whole two fingers at her eyes and then back to Shane - the whole ‘I’m watching you’ motion.

Shane, for his part, looks properly chastised. Sara runs a soothing hand along Ryan’s shoulders and he turns to look at her. She mouths ‘see you’ and he nods. Once she’s gone he zeroes in on the screen, the sound. He pointedly ignores Shane. Ignores him even as much as his whole body is screaming at him to do otherwise.

Then he hears a throat clearing and feels a gentle tap on one shoulder. Ryan coolly removes his headset as if he’s just realized Shane’s arrived, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Shane’s voice is soft, somber. He doesn’t sit at his desk. He just…stand there. Stands there and looks down at Ryan and Ryan doesn’t meet his gaze. He looks at his hands and just tells himself over and over: _Don’t say something bitchy, don’t say something bitchy, don’t_ -!

“How was your space?”

Crap.

He can’t see Shane wince, but knows he does when he gets a chagrined, “Uh, it was-it was alright. It was …space-y.”

Ryan just grunts. Shane draws in an audible breath, “Listen, could we, ah-? Talk? Outside?”

Ryan debates how petulant he wants to be before he decides he should be the bigger man. Letting out his own breath, he nods and gets to his feet. The two walk out together amicably, although nowhere near as close to one another as they normally are. There’s a noticeable gap between them, more feet apart than their friendship has ever had and heads around the office _actually_ turn. People notice.

Ryan forces himself to veer just that much closer to wave off suspicion. They exit into the bright Los Angeles sunshine and push past most of the parking lot. They’re pretty far from the building before Shane speaks, “So…”

“So,” Ryan retorts, not offering help because Shane was the one who wanted to talk. So he should talk. Shane licks his lips, bites the bottom one, “I-I owe you an apology.”

“Psh, you think?” Ryan crosses his arms and he sees Shane wince this time, “Yeah, I wasn’t-? It’d…been awhile, y’know? Since-since I’d talked to another person. Hell, since I talked _period_. And the shit I said…”

It’s clearly an effort on his part to look at Ryan, to look him in the eyes, but he does it, “I don’t think it was unreasonable of me to want some time to myself. Some space to take stock of everything but I-I could have put it more eloquently and…and what you did for me…”

His eyes lock with Ryan’s, “I should have been…been more appreciative. Grateful.”

Ryan’s eyes roll upwards and he’s the first to look away, gaze casting off to one side as his words drip with sarcasm, “Oh yeah. ‘Appreciative’. ‘Grateful’. Those are the words I want to hear.”

“Well, what do you want to hear?” Shane asks and there’s some heat there and oh yes, this is something Ryan can deal with as he looks back at him, dark eyes hot, “What do I want to hear? I’ll tell you what I want to hear – more than just a ‘thank you’.”

“And what’s so wrong with a ‘thank you’?”

“‘Thank you’ is what you say to somebody who holds open the door for you or who pulls out your chair. It sure as shit is NOT something you say to someone who gave you half of their goddamn soul!” Ryan’s volume rises with each word and Shane stands up taller, clearly fuming himself, “I didn’t ask you to do that!”

“No?”

The next words explode from Shane with righteous anger, “No, I certainly fucking didn’t, Ryan! I told you! I thought-!”

“Yeah, you and everybody else apparently thought I was a piece of fucking shit!” he snaps, “One who’d just throw up his hands and be like, ‘Oh well! My demon buddy’s gonna die – but hey, at least I got a great blowjob out of the deal! Time to go off and get married and have some kids or whatever the fuck’!”

Shane’s actually speechless. Mouth flapping uselessly and, under any other circumstances, this would be hilarious. Right now it just fuels Ryan’s rage as he grumbles under his breath, “Talk about ‘didn’t ask me’ –  well YOU didn’t ask ME to save MY life! I DIED in that storage container! The Void was tied to ME! Two times you could have just stepped aside and let fate-!”

“Oh, fuck fate!” Shane cries, “I couldn’t-!”

“I KNOW!” Ryan interrupts with a sharp shout, “I know, you couldn’t live without me! Well, guess what, numb nuts? I can’t live without you either! I can’t-! I can’t-!”

And suddenly he realizes he’s moved. That he’s grabbed hold of Shane’s shirt, bunches of it near his collar and he’s kind of shaking him and he wants, he wants…

Ryan looks at his mouth and he wants to kiss him. No, not kiss. _Devour_. Ryan’s never felt this before. This…lust. This lust that borders on insanity. He’s amazed he can keep it leashed. More so when Shane’s returning that look and oh shit…

They hover near one another, orbiting close, but not connecting. Their breathing is harsh. Loud. Rushing together, mixing, and they’re not kissing and Ryan feels dizzy, world spinning, and Shane’s hands rise up, cover his, gently easing his fingers away, “Ryan…”

Ryan pulls away from him, or more like yanks back. He sucks in air, blessed, blessed air. It fills him and Shane runs a hand through his hair, looks at him with a touch of sadness. Ryan rubs a hand over his eyes. What the fuck?

That felt…so volatile. _Too_ volatile. A strange border between lust and violence and that’s not how he wants to feel about Shane. He wants to feel…

Well, not _that_. Something…nicer. Softer. Romantic even. Not…not whatever the fuck that just was. That was like-? It was almost as if he’d -? Ryan closes his eyes tight. Jesus, he’d wanted to do more than kiss him. He’d wanted to… _consume_ him. Own him. Dominate him and Ryan’s…not that type of person.

Or…he wasn’t. Not until…

His hand falls to his chest, rubs over it and he swears he can feel that hole again, that emptiness. It’s like a thundering under his rib cage, more so than just a heartbeat. It’s a live, twisted thing and you can’t feel your soul. Or lack thereof. That’s…ridiculous. Impossible.

But then, he _has_ joined the world of impossible things. He’s a part of it now, the supernatural life, and Shane’s voice is soft, “You okay?”

Ryan can’t manage words, so he just nods, even if it’s a lie. Even if he _doesn’t_ feel okay. Which Shane must pick up on, “An-anyway, my point is…what-what I wanted to say was…I-I was wondering if we could start over.”

This actually _does_ draw Ryan away from his current worries. Sure, his right hand is still balled into a fist, one rubbing a hard circle over his chest, but Shane’s words capture his interest, “Start over?”

Shane nods, “Yeah, I-I thought we could…I mean, we’re back at work. We can do like we used to do. The Ghoul Boys – hunting ghosts, making videos.”

“So, co-workers?” Ryan returns sourly and Shane shakes his head, “No. More than that. Friends-”

“Friends,” comes out even more sourly if possible but Shane just growls, “Let me finish.”

Ryan just side eyes him with the nastiest glare, but Shane is undeterred, “Friends…but-but friends who…who, I mean…” he stops and he suddenly seems very annoyed. Not with Ryan, but himself. Annoyed he can’t get the words out right and suddenly Ryan’s conscious kicks in. Better late than never, right?

His fist drops and his eyes soften because, oh yeah – it has been some time since Shane’s spoken. He should really give the guy a break. So Ryan does. He waits patiently. Waits until Shane manages a meek, “I told you. I…I remember all of it. Every second. I mean, it’s…it’s blurred. Comes in dreams sometimes…”

His words drop to a point where they’re damn near inaudible, “But I see them…their faces. The people I…”

The words drop off like he can’t bear to say them and Ryan can’t help but gently urge, “Go on.”

“…I killed.”

“You smited,” Ryan corrects, “And not people. Demons.”

“They were _people_ , Ryan,” is the tormented reply, “Most of them. They were out here. In the real world, not the Pit. They were leading human lives. And-and it’s not all black and white. They weren’t all monsters just because they were demons.”

“That’s not true,” Ryan says with pure confidence, “You know me. I do my research. Mal gave me files on all of them, information,” he grows louder as Shane starts violently shaking his head, “They were murderers, drug dealers, rapists-!”

“They had _lives_ , Ryan. People they knew. Friends, family-!”

“ _Demons_ , Shane,” is the hotly contested retort, “They were _demons_.”

This gets a shaky laugh, one choked out from a thick throat, “Yeah? And just what the fuck am I?”

Ryan meets Shane’s eyes and they’re so sad. So wet and that’s it. The last straw.

“Fuck it,” Ryan grumbles and he hugs him. He hugs Shane to him. He hugs him _tight_ , “You want to know what you are? You’re _mine_.”

The moment the words leave him, Ryan realizes how true they are. How much he likes saying them. How much he means them with every fiber of his being. That dark hunger from before rises inside him again, but this time he doesn’t resist it. If anything, he feels his grip grow stronger, “ _MINE_.”

Shane’s arms don’t rise up, he doesn’t hug back, but Ryan knows he’s said the right thing, because Shane just lets out a dry breath and relaxes. Ryan feels Shane’s whole tight, long, scarecrow body just…melt. It goes limp against him as he answers in the world’s quietest whisper, “Okay.”

Ryan pulls away, looks at him, and Shane nods, “Okay. Yeah.”

This gets a blink and then a smile. A big, all-white-teeth-on-full-display smile, “Yeah?”

Shane ducks his head and doesn’t meet Ryan’s eyes and holy fuck, if _that_ isn’t the cutest shit ever, “I mean, I…I was getting to that. You…you keep interrupting…”

“I’m known to do that.”

“Shut up, Ryan.”

“Hey! That’s my line!”

This gets an honest to god lip twitch. Something closer to a real, genuine smile, “What I’ve been trying to say, sans all your interruptions, is I’m…clearly going through a lot. Dealing with what happened while I was,” he waves one hand, “Well, you know…”

“I do.”

“Again, shut up.”

“Got it.”

The smile finally blossoms and it’s just as glorious as Ryan hoped it would be, “So, my thought was – we start over. Focus on work, being friends and…and maybe after…after a reasonable amount of time we, ah, pick-pick up where we left off before…”

“How much is a ‘reasonable’ amount of time?”

Better than a smile, Ryan gets a snicker. God, he didn’t realize how much he missed Shane’s laughter until he heard it just now. He wants to hug him again. He barely manages to restrain himself as Shane’s hands dip into his jeans pockets, “You’re an impatient little thing, aren’t you?”

“Oh, you have no idea…” Ryan returns but Shane just shakes his head, “I do, actually. I’ve seen you get pretty uppity with ghosts. Although nowhere near Calra’s level…”

Ryan’s whole face scrunches up, “Yeah. Take it you watched the episodes those delinquents made?”

A dismissive sound before, “They weren’t _that_ bad.”

“Not that bad! Calra had viewers thinking I hated you! Not to mention he was very...aggressive, with the ghosts.”

“Okay, but there were no ghosts there, because that would imply they’re real, which they’re not-” Shane starts and Ryan lets out the loudest ‘oh my god!’ at that and Shane is all smiles and it really does feel as if they’ve stepped back in time. Stepped back to something brighter, far brighter than the sun shining down on them.

But Ryan gets over his disbelief at Shane’s words because they’re not in the past, they’re in the present and in the present there’s the chance for…well…his cheeks heat as he mummers, “You said pick up where we left off.”

“Yeah?”

“Does-? Does that mean we’d-we’d go back to-to the…the sort of,” and Ryan hates himself because he has no idea why he’s suddenly so goddamn shy about this, “the…the ‘b’ word?”

Shane’s hands escape his pockets as he crosses his arms and shoots Ryan a look that makes him want to strangle the man, “There are a LOT of ‘b’ words, Ryan. Some of ‘em fit you and come straight to mind, like ‘bozo’, ‘bro’, ‘son of a bitch’, although there, the ‘b’ is on the end.”

“You-you jerk!” is Ryan’s less than clever response, but then Shane just edges closer to him, voice dipping down to something more seductive, “There’s also ‘brilliant’, ‘bright’, and of course, ‘beautiful’.”

Ryan gulps at that one, more so when Shane’s eyes scan his whole face, eyelids lowered, “Very, very beautiful.”

“That’s…that’s not,” Ryan is trying to say that’s not something he should like so much. Or something. Hell, he’s not sure what he wants to say, but then Shane smirks, “‘Blowjob’ is a ‘b’ word too and I’ll have you know I give _phenomenal_ blowjobs, not just ‘great’ ones.”

This gets a snort, “Bastard.”

“See! You got a ‘b’ word too! We’re just gonna own at Scrabble, huh?”

“I was talking about ‘boyfriend’,” Ryan finally manages, tips of his ears catching flame, “We-we-? B-before everything happened we were kind of, ah, going in that direction…”

“We were,” Shane says this as if he’s revealing some dirty secret, “Thought you weren’t sold on that definition though.”

“I-I was warming up to it,” Ryan admits and the heat from his ears and cheeks is starting to make his neck feel flushed. Or maybe that’s just the Los Angeles heat. Or the way Shane’s looking at him, “But I-I suppose I could go for ‘claimed’," an evil thought occurs to him and escapes his mouth before he can curb it, “Is that what you called Sara?”

“Oh yeah, _that_!” Shane draws back and all the seductiveness drops away as he shoots Ryan the most exasperated look, “You owe me one HUGE explanation as to how _Sara_ ended up here!”

“Hey! Watch it, I _like_ Sara!” Ryan warns and Shane groans, his head tipping back as if it can’t be held up under the weight of that remark, “I like her too! Obviously! I was with her for damn near a century! But I certainly didn’t expect to see her anytime soon, much less wandering around Buzzfeed’s offices like she works here-”

“She does.”

“-not to mention she and I never quite-wait, what? She _does_?”

“Long story,” Ryan makes sure to use these exact words just to irk Shane more. Which he can tell he does as Shane just…buries his face in his hands. Maybe to check the urge to scream? Ryan loves it, smile so wide it hurts, “How’s about I tell it to you some time over dinner?”

“Slow, Ryan,” Shane lowers his hands, his words a world-weary sigh, “Take it slow.”

“We had dinner long before we became…this thing we kinda are,” is his astute reply and Shane can only nod because, yes, that is true, so Ryan presses on, “And I really _did_ mean just dinner as in casual, friends-who-work-together dinner. Don’t forget – we’ve got some planning to do in regard to the new season. Working out shooting locations and talking with the crew and-”

Shane waves his hands because Ryan is rapidly getting overly excited talking about the show. Which, to be fair, is only right. Unsolved is, after all, his baby. Still, he manages to stifle his excitement somewhat when Shane cuts him off, “Yes, okay, good. I _do_ want to get back to work. I think-I think that’ll be good for me, but there’s one more thing.”

Ryan just looks at him and this time Shane meets his gaze full on, “What I said about starting over – I mean that. I want to start over fresh, y’know? I mean, you know everything now. For the most part. About what I am and my world and-and…”

He runs a hand through his thick mop of hair, scratches at the nape of his neck, “Before there was a lot of lies. Most of which I was responsible for and I don’t...I don’t want that again. I don’t. I want you to be able to trust me. I was lucky, you forgiving me as quickly as you did and-and accepting me and,” Shane has that look again, the one where it’s clear he’s frustrated by his inability to find the right words, but he presses on, “I want to be honest. From here on out. I want to actually earn your trust and your…earn your…”

 _Love_. He doesn’t say the word, but Ryan hears it all the same. It’s harder than ever to resist hugging him, kissing him, but he does. He manages a mere friendly right arm slap like he used to give back when they truly were just friends, “I got you, man.”

Shane looks thankful and Ryan’s damn near on cloud nine as they approach the building when suddenly Adam Bianchi crosses their paths. Adam is holding a manila envelope and when he catches sight of Ryan he beelines straight for him. His voice is as quiet and reserved as it normally is yet he seems…sad, “Hey Ryan, I’ve been looking for you.”

Both Ryan and Shane stop, but the way Adam keeps darting covert looks at Shane, the big guy just holds up his hands, “Guessing you’ve got a message from Steven so,” he shrugs, “I’ve got work to do. See you, guys.”

Shane leaves and Adam _actually_ watches him go. Once the door to the building shuts behind him, Adam turns back to Ryan who just gives him a grin, “What’s up, man? Did Steven really send you with a message?”

“Not Steven,” Adam mutters and he thrusts the envelope at Ryan. Ryan takes it with a frown, opening it to find it filled with several stapled documents and what looks like some glossy photos. Adam steps closer to him and his voice is very, very low, “Travel itinerary, notes, pictures, locations – things you need for this season,” he sighs as if it pains him, “Provided to you by Raziel.”

Ryan nearly drops the envelope, his eyes growing huge, “Raz-? You-you-! You know-?!”

Adam looks annoyed and he scratches at his beard, “I owed him. Debt paid.”

Everything around Ryan feels small and spinny and just…insane. He looks at Adam as if he’s sprouted a second head, “H-how?”

A shrug, “Related.”

Ryan didn’t think he could be anymore floored. He’s wrong. He nearly topples over at this revelation. He knows this because Adam grabs one of his arms, keeps him upright. Ryan just _stares_ at him, “You’re-you’re-?” He wonders if he’ll manage a full sentence anytime soon, “You’re…what? A-a fallen angel? A-a demon or-?”

“Angel,” Adam practically whispers, “Arch, actually.”

“An-an _arch_ angel?”

“Ex,” is the next tag on and Ryan is seconds from losing his mind, breathless as he works it all out robotically, “You’re an ex-archangel?”

Another shrug. Ryan opens his mouth to ask ‘how’ or ‘why’ or something but Adam just explains, “I stepped down. Was souled. You can do that. Depending on how much He likes you.”

It’s not like Ryan can see the capitalization on the ‘He’ but he knows its there and that Adam means _God_ and Adam knows _God_ and he’s an archangel or he was and now he’s-? Fuck, what _is_ he? Just human? And out of all the things Ryan can ask, he finds himself asking, “Why would you do that?”

“The food,” is Adam’s answer. Like it’s the _only_ answer. As if there could _be_ no other answer. And then he looks away, tone pleading, “Please don’t tell Steven or Andrew.”

A lot of rapid blinking. Then, “Does-? Does Shane know?”

“No. Please don’t tell him either.”

Ryan swallows thickly. Gives a wobbly nod. But Adam isn’t done, “Ryan?”

Ryan just looks at him, unable to do anything else.  Adam looks at the envelope, then Ryan, “Be careful.”

Another nod and then Adam is gone. Adam…the ex-archangel. Another supernatural creature. Another one, working at Buzzfeed, in secret. Another person he knows who is actually-?! And shit – who’s next? One of the Try Guys? Kelsey? Jen? Quinta? Is anyone just a regular old human like himself?

But then, he is a human with half a soul who is trying to date a demon and shit, the envelope. It feels heavy in his hands and he looks at it. Hates it.

_I want to be honest. From here on out._

Shane’s words. Ryan smacks the envelope against one hand and feasts on the inside of one cheek. Great. They’re off to a great start.


	8. Chapter 8

“Well? What’s the prognosis, doc?” Shane asks as Qyrora walks around him, her memo recorder floating to one side. He has his shirt off, hands gripping the examination table, everything on full display. She eyes his wings, “Stretch again. Full length please.”

He sighs, slightly annoyed, because he’s already stretched them plenty of times. First, she wanted the right wing, then the left, then both, and now here she is asking for another show. He reluctantly gives her one and she actually jots down notes, as if the recorder isn’t enough, as if she has to have something hand written, “Alright. Relax.”

He does, but he feels like she’s a vulture circling prey. Any moment she’ll swoop down and…

“Claws?”

His eyes roll. For fuck’s sake! She’s already inspected these too, but he does as asked, holding his clawed hands up. Qyrora edges closer, prods them with the end of her red pen before tipping that very same pen along his left ear, “These are new.”

“Yeah.”

“Longer. Pointed.”

He doesn’t know if she wants him to add on to that or not, so he doesn’t.

“You didn’t mention it when I asked you if there’d been any physical changes.”

Shane shrugs, “Didn’t see how it was relevant. Just another stereotypical addition. Claws, horns, fangs, wings – and now pointy ears, will wonders never cease.”

“Your wings have changed dramatically, horns too,” Qyrora offers off handedly, still scribbling away, “Everything is bigger, fiercer. Not unexpected considering the amount of energy you absorbed,” her dark eyes meet his, “Do you recall the exact amount you consumed?”

“You mean how many demons did I kill?” he snorts, “I dunno. About a hundred, give or take.”

“About?”

The question sets him on edge. Not that he wasn’t on edge to begin with. Since the moment he showed up in the physician’s office he’s been surly. He doesn’t want to be, he knows he’s acting like an asshole, but he can’t seem to help himself, “You need an exact count? Their names? Social security numbers?”

He adds a mumbled, ‘as if they have any’ even as she puts the pad and recorder to one side and draws up a chair opposite him, “I need to know how much you remember. I need to know how you’re adjusting to rapid ascensions. I need to know…”

Qyrora draws in a deep breath, face solemn, “I need to know how you feel.”

“How I-?” Shane huffs at the end of the question, unable to finish for how stupid he finds it, his sarcasm amped up as he drawls, “I feel fine. Fresh as a daisy.”

“Oh?”

“Yup,” he makes sure to pop the ‘p’, “Like good ol’ Leo Dicap – king of the world, baby.”

“King wouldn’t be a bad definition,” Qyrora concedes, “Your readings are off the charts. I can’t even begin to classify you. You’re beyond levels, beyond titles. You are, honest to god, something new. Something past anything I’ve ever seen.”

“Aw, gee. Thanks,” he coos and bats his eyelashes even as she crosses her arms and glares at him, “You’re also clearly volatile. Brimming with so much power it’s breaking down your basic structure. You’re a bomb on the verge of exploding, both physically and metaphorically, so I’m going to ask you again – how are you  _feeling_?”

The look he shoots her is poisonous. It feels foreign on his face, because he’s never felt himself make it before, “What do you want to hear, huh, doc? Is this you psychoanalyzing me? I told you – I hate that shrink shit and I’m not-!”

She cuts off his tirade with a firm, pervasive, “How are you-?” and he bursts out “ _ANGRY_! Alright! Happy?!”

She shrugs, “Yeah. Actually. Thanks.”

Shane just puffs out a hot breath, tension slowly spooling out of him after that outburst, “I’m…sorry, I didn’t…”

“No, no. That’s good. That’s what I wanted. Some honesty. Some…” she waves a hand, “Some…you.”

This draws a laugh out of him, “I wasn’t me when I first came in?”

“Honestly?” she shakes her head, “No, you weren’t. You were very much someone else. Granted, I don’t know you well, but from the interactions we  _did_ have – I knew you not to be so…so reserved.”

Qyrora sits up, “You’re a big guy, Shane. And not just your actual size – you have a larger than life personality. You’re warm, funny. Not what you were when you first walked through my door. I could tell you were angry, holding back. I did your normal physical, but I wanted…I wanted more from you. I’m not trying to do the whole ‘shrink’ thing as you call it. I just…want you to relax.”

“Relax?” he repeats and crosses his own arms, “It’s…it’s a bit hard to do that these days.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. What with,” Shane scratches behind his head, “the…the power. I feel it. All the time. This constant thrumming. It’s like I had a bunch of six-hour energy drinks and sixty cups of coffee. Like I could reach out and crush the sun with my bare hands and everything is,” he rubs at his temples, “It’s  _singing_. Loudly. And it won’t stop. It doesn’t stop, except…”

Shane’s head tips back on a groan, “It sounds so stupid, so goddamn  _corny_ …”

“When you’re with Ryan?” Qyrora supplies and his head tips back down as he looks at her, eyes narrowed, “You did the procedure.”

“I did,” she admits it so freely that the glare he gave her from earlier returns, “Why? Why in the hell would you-?”

“He asked,” is her prim answer and he knows he’s got to be making that unbelievably poisonous expression again as she holds up her hands in defense, “You know Ryan Bergara, do you think I could have stopped him?”

That kills the look in its tracks, returns his face to another expression, one reserved just for Ryan, reserved to express how much he wants to just smack him upside his head. Idiot. Qyrora must know what it means, because she sounds vindicated, “If I hadn’t done it, he would have simply found someone else to do it. And with you giving him all the legal rights of a bondmate, he would have had that right. Especially with the notoriety you were amassing.”

“I’m not still amassing it?”

Qyrora can only offer another shrug, “Since you’ve been back, I’ve heard nothing on the spectral feed. My best guess? Your advisor is top notch.”

“Mal?” Shane asks with clear disbelief and she can do nothing but stick out her bottom lip and make something of a ‘sure, why not?’ face. Shane can’t believe for a second that Malthazor is top notch, but then, maybe he’s underestimated the guy. After all, he certainly helped Ryan along.

“But, backing up; your current prognosis,” the physician crosses her legs, resting both her hands over her right knee, “You said it yourself – you’re overloaded with power. You haven’t gained any new abilities?”

“I…” he stumbles, looking unhappy as he confesses, “I can sort of…disapparate.”

“Like Harry Potter?”

He levels her with a stare and she gestures to him, “So, like teleportation?”

“No, no,” he runs one hand through his hair, tugs at it, “I don’t open portals, I…it’s more like I-I dissolve. I’ve always been able to blend in with shadows, but I’ve never been able to…”

He cuts off with a grunt, clearly annoyed with his inability to phrase it properly, “It’s like I can travel through them now. Zip from spot to spot like,” he snaps his fingers and Qyrora’s eyes widen, “Okay. As I previously mentioned, I did notice an…irregularity to your basic structure. Is it difficult for you to maintain a corporeal form?”

“…sometimes,” he says it so softly she almost misses it, “I see.”

“Do you?” he growls, “Because I don’t think this is normal.”

“For demons? No. For ghosts?”

“What? So I’m a ghost now?” Shane laughs, but not with good humor, “Ryan’ll be stoked.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but you’re not a ghost,” Qyrora returns, lips screwing up to one side, “You’re still very much a demon, but you have clearly taken on some ethereal attributes. Not completely unsurprising. Your abilities were shadow oriented to begin with, so your rise in level has merely exacerbated that. Instead of gaining a lot of new nifty gifts, it would appear that everything you garnered simply upped the abilities already at your disposal.”

“So, I won’t be shooting laser beams out of my eyes anytime soon?” he jokes, this time with genuine warmth and the physician responds with a chuckle, “No, no. Afraid not.”

“Bummer.”

“Eh, you’ve still got a decent skill set,” she gets to her feet and paces, something he can’t help but remark on, “Take it there’s something else on your mind?”

She nods and doesn’t answer and he does his best to be patient. To wait. But he wasn’t lying about the singing in his mind. The constant waves of power that undulate under his skin, through his blood, his very bones. There doesn’t seem to be any way to release it.

 _Now, you know that’s not true_ , a cold voice whispers in his mind and he closes his eyes because yes, there _is_ a way he can release it. He remembers that all too well. He still wakes up sick from it. The memories…all the blood, the carnage…the _death_. Shane’s moments from telling her about it, asking about it, but she beats him to the punch.

“Normally, when one demon defeats another, he absorbs that energy and ascends. He rises in level. The number he smites builds on that and he rises and rises until he stops. There’s a plateau. You, initially, were a level one because you had only smited one other demon. When you came to me, you had smited two more and rose, but only slightly. And now?”

Shane looks chagrined, “Now I’ve killed an ungodly number and am out of control?”

Qyrora points at him, “No, see, that’s just it. Even if you smited over a hundred demons, that’s still chump change in comparison to other demons-”

“Oh, well that makes me feel so much better,” he grumbles but she waves at him, “Don’t interrupt!”

“Sorry.”

She picks up as if the short exchange didn’t happen, “-but the way you took in energies is what’s so odd. You didn’t reach a plateau, you just…kept going up and up. I don’t think you could have reached, say, deity status or anything, but the fact you weren’t capping off is strange save for one thing: Ryan.”

Shane hopes his face expresses at least a small portion of the massive amount of confusion he feels at that. It must, because she comes closer, eyes locking with his, “He gave you part of his soul. He topped you off. If he hadn’t done that and you’d kept tearing your way through your cabal, I don’t think an angel task force would have been necessary. I think you would have overloaded.”

“Overloaded like-? What? Explode?”

“Possibly,” she says as if hearing you were close to going off like a bomb is _normal_ , “But that’s irrelevant. What isn’t, is your adjustment to _being_ capped. You not only have to keep a grip on your corporeal form, but also your mental state. Hearing it’s alleviated by being around Ryan doesn’t surprise me. He contains the other half of the soul that now resides within you, so, naturally, being around him would make you feel more stable.”

“Naturally,” he deadpans as she continues, “And that’s why I think you should bond him.”

Shane is sure he misheard that. He’s positive he has. He waits for her to laugh. He waits for her to let the other shoe drop. He waits for – for anything, because she can’t possibly be serious and when he finally concludes she is, _he’s_ the one who laughs, “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

Just another shrug and his voice rises in volume as her words sink in, “You can’t-! A bond is what kicked off this whole train wreck in the first place! And now you’re _actually_ suggesting I do it _again_?!”

“No, what you did before was a _partial_ bond, remember? I’m suggesting a full bond. Both of you conscious. Both of you consenting.”

“I’m not-! I would never-!” he can’t even seem to function. Her suggestion is so ludicrous that it’s shut him down, knocked the needle off the record of his mind. Qyrora, however, is perfectly composed, “I’m not just suggesting _you_. Keep in mind, I gave you your prognosis – you’re on the edge. I’m also giving you your fix – which is bonding. But this bonding would be a _joint_ decision between you both. The partial bond was a decision _you_ made, the fracturing was his. You’ve both made separate choices for one another and both have had consequences. This would be you two working together for once.”

“We _do_ work together…” Shane mutters sullenly under his breath, but the doctor is unmoved, “Do you feel guilt?”

This draws him up short and he’s getting pretty damned tired of being shocked at every turn in their conversation, “About what?”

“About anything.”

“Um…”

“Because guilt is rare in demons, it’s more a human affliction. One brought from having a soul. What about remorse? Fear?”

“Those aren’t exclusively human.”

“No, but humans feel them more keenly than demons do, thus the question remains – do you feel guilt?”

His lips compress into a thin line, “I never wanted to…to smite anyone…”

“Even if they deserved it?”

An aggravated noise escapes him, “Ryan said the same-!”

“You’re going off the assumption every life is precious? That even a soulless demon that commits atrocities shouldn’t be-” she starts but he cuts her off, “It’s not my right to decide who lives or dies! Alright? I never had a horse in the leveling game! The first demon I smited? I smited him because he tormented me for _ages_ and I only did it as a last resort! In self-defense! I was fine being a level one, I _wanted_ to stay a level one.”

“But you’re not,” she counters, “You’re _not_ a level one anymore! You’re so much more than that and you have half a soul and you feel more than you ever have before, don’t you?”

The next exhales leaves him in a loud gust, almost as if she’s punched it out of him, so she goes softer, “Don’t you?”

There are no words. Just a nod. Because she’s right. He hates it. He hates it with everything he is, but she’s right. He _does_ feel more. He feels guilt, he feels remorse, he feels…he _feels_. It’s not as if he didn’t feel before, but this is different. He recognizes it’s different, _feels_ how it’s different. Now that he’s accepted that, she goes in for the kill, “Ryan’s going to have the same problem.”

 This is what really strikes home. This is what has him just…looking at her.

“But his will be…opposite. He’ll feel…less. He’ll be…he’ll be open to something darker,” she sighs, “Much darker.”

“Ryan?” he asks because he can’t believe that, but she doesn’t dispute it and he rolls his eyes, “We can’t just-? I mean…I _just_ agreed to maybe being friends again.”

“Just friends?”

“I…want to take it slow,” his face and neck heat and his eyes dart away to avoid hers, “But maybe…maybe down the line…”

“I don’t know how much time you have,” she murmurs, “Both of you.”

“So, what? If we don’t bond and fast, I’ll break apart and Ryan’ll go nuts?”

“It’s a possibility,” she sucks her teeth, “A very valid one.”

Shane scrubs at his face and just-? Can he just not catch a break? What the fuck, universe? Qyrora takes some pity on him, “I get it. I do. Going slow probably _is_ the best course of action for you. In fact, I’m surprised you even agreed to that much. I’m sure you feel as if you don’t deserve it.”

While Shane doesn’t confirm or deny that, he doesn’t have to. She just _knows_ , “Ryan. Love. Happiness. You said it yourself – you feel guilty about the demons you smited. Therefore – it’s a logical conclusion that you don’t think you deserve good things.”

“Logical,” he repeats and he’s never really hated that word until now. He hops off the table, shaking his head, “Look, I’ll think about it, doc. I’ll think about all of it. But for now?”

Shane practically flees the room as he tosses out over one shoulder, “For now, I’m going back to work.”

  
+

 

“What do you think?”

“It’s pretty!” Shane returns brightly and Ryan rolls his eyes, “Yeah. Pretty. Pretty _haunted_.”

“Uh huh, sure, buddy. Anything you say…”

Ryan glares at his co-host, “Come on! This place is rich in history! It’s been covered by other ghost hunting shows-”

A quick aside from Shane, “Shows not as good as ours.”

“-but now The Boys are here,” Ryan waves to the building, “Here at the Glen Tavern Inn!”

TJ, Mark, and Devon do their thing on the other side of the camera and at the signal that filming has stopped, Ryan turns to Shane, “Did you really just say ‘shows not as good as ours’?”

“Yeah, why not? Start up a good ol’ feud. Viewers will love it.”

“Hmm, legal won’t,” Ryan chuckles and Shane just shrugs like it’s no skin off his nose. And why would it be? After all, the legalities of the mortal world probably don’t mean jack to a guy who’s _actually_ a demon. A demon who sure is acting like he hasn’t been gone for a few months on a murder spree.

Not that Ryan can judge. Especially not after tonight. His hands are sweating just thinking about it and the sweat only grows worse when Shane murmurs, “Nice of you to pick a spot not _too_ far from home.”

“Thought it best to keep it simple,” Ryan lies, throat thick because, yeah, tonight’s the night. The night he’ll put up or shut up, because he has to kill a demon tonight. He’s joked before about fighting demons, killing them – but this? This is him _actually_ doing it. It makes him at least a little bit glad that, while Shane was gone, he spent a better part of his time exercising.

There wasn’t any exhaustive training, but when he’d been trying to track Shane down, there hadn’t been much to do in between besides watch television and work out. Working out kept his thoughts off…well, everything. And there was a lot of everything. Everything that should be fixed now, but damn well isn’t, because here he is – Raziel’s personal little demon hunter.

God, why can’t he just have Shane back in his life and everything fine and dandy? Why can’t the world just-? Just stop kicking him in the nuts, already? Still, a deal is a deal and there’s no way Ryan’s going to let that Adamox asshole get anywhere near his friend. Besides, the first demon he chose out of the bunch _seems_ the easiest. 

Mainly because it’s not currently occupying a human host. Ryan doesn’t think he’s ready for that. However, a demon in its own skin presents its own problems. The demon in question is a few miles up the road from the Inn, at least according to the papers Raziel supplied. Its name is Zig'drozok and it resides in an abandoned suite of buildings.

Normally Ziggy (as Ryan has nicknamed him) doesn’t bother with the human populace, but when he does…well, ‘unpleasant’ is an understatement. The demon has long since gone feral but, from the report itself, is quote ‘difficult to catch, its behavior so sporadic as to be unvanquishable’ and yes, that makes it sound like one Ryan should put off, but his other options are worse. Way worse.

…which says _a lot_ about his current predicament.

A predicament he plans on sharing with Shane. He came to that decision rather easily – he’s not going to let Raziel lead him completely around by the nose. Ryan’s not going to put his relationship with Shane in jeopardy with more secrets. He’s going to tell Shane everything…after tonight. And, okay, yes – it might seem silly to wait, but here’s the thing – Ryan wants to know if he can do this.

It’s this weird compulsion in him, this unsolved puzzle he wants to crack. If the demon proves to be too much, he’ll bail, tell Shane about it. If he can handle the demon on his own, he’ll _still_ tell Shane about it – so, either way, Shane _will_ know the truth. Just not asap. Ryan doesn’t see the harm in that.

And – moving on from those thoughts – it’s really no fair of Shane to look so good. He's standing there, wind playing with his hair as he chats amiably with the others and Ryan just wants to spend time with him. Just wants him all alone and all to himself. He wants to isolate him, lock him up, keep him separate and private and he wants, he wants…

 _No. Bad_. Ryan shakes away the dark thoughts, the possessive ones, as Shane jogs back up to him, “The guys are going to do some more preliminary shots of the property for you to VO later. While they’re doing that, you want to grab a bite to eat?”

Ryan nods and the smile Shane shoots him is no more different than usual, save for the fact that it now makes his heart flutter a little. Goddamn it. _Take it slow, take it slow_. He can respect that. He _can_. Besides, he has no real basis for this-this unreasonable want. This gnawing need for more…more _something_.

It’s just that, well, having Shane around makes him feel more _solid_. Whole. He has some suspicions as to why that is and he really, really doesn’t want to analyze it too much. Same for the hole inside himself, same for his plans later this evening.

 _Dinner_ , his thoughts whisper, _focus on dinner_.

They don’t go anywhere fancy. In fact, they don’t really go anywhere at all, instead walking around the block to only come across a food truck. It’s fortuitous and perfect and the afternoon is giving way to a gorgeous setting sun. The sight of that and the food and the company makes it so Ryan can’t help but feel fantastic as he takes a big bite of his Cuban sandwich.

“ _God_ ,” he moans, eyes rolling into the back of his skull, “This is so _good_.”

“Hmm. It is,” Shane returns but he’s still eyeballing his food as if it’s difficult to eat. Ryan looks at him speculatively and by way of explanation he picks at a piece, “I didn’t…didn’t eat a lot. You know, when-when I was on the road.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Ryan asks gingerly and Shane just continues to picks at the food, eating little bits at a time. He doesn’t look at Ryan, talking to his sandwich more than anything, “Can’t think of a better title. Unless you _want_ me to call it my murder spree…”

“No,” Ryan grumbles, mouth full of delicious sandwich, “I damn well don’t. Because that’s not what it was.”

The look he gets is pointed, but Ryan is undeterred as he swallows, “Okay, okay – fine, yeah, I’ll-I’ll even admit I thought of it that way myself but, you know, it’s-it’s not really accurate.”

“How is it not accurate?”

“A murder spree the way _you’re_ putting it suggests you had control over your actions, which you-”

“Did, Ryan,” Shane interjects, “I _did_ have control over my actions.”

“ _Really_?” Ryan’s tone grows sharp, “So then, you _did_ leave me clues to find you?”

Now Ryan gets a slack jawed stare and he revels in it as he denotes, “You made it a point that you didn’t want me to find you and you didn’t want me to do what I did, but some part of you must have known I was on your trail.”

“Ryan, I told you – the dreams weren’t-!”

“I’m not talking about the dreams, smart guy,” Ryan is pleased with himself, pleased with the idea that he has the upper hand in this argument, “Talking about the songs.”

“The-?”

“Springsteen? Billy Idol? Gloria?” Ryan returns and as Shane’s face colors he knows he has him, “Holy shit! I _knew_ it!”

“Ryan…”

“Say it! Say you wanted me to find you!”

Shane wraps up his uneaten sandwich and puts it down on top of the brick fence they’re leaning against. He rubs his hands together and gives him a cool look, “What do you want to hear? That I was in control of my actions or that I wasn’t?”

Ryan’s grin drops away and he realizes his own error. Shane nods, “Yeah, see, you can’t have it both ways. If I was responsible for the songs, then I was responsible for the people I killed too.”

Silence falls between them like a curtain and, for a while, neither of them says anything. Ryan finds his own appetite gone and he wraps up his sandwich as well, sits it near Shane’s as he says under his breath, “Demons.”

“Ryan,” Shane moans as if that response is the most exasperating thing he could say, “We’ve been over this…”

“It’s just…” Ryan waves his hands, “I don’t get it. You smited demons before. I don’t see why now it’s such a big deal…”

“It’s a big deal because the demons I smited before..." Shane’s voice is low, but Ryan can sense the unease in it, “I had no choice then, I acted on instinct. They-they threatened you, possibly killed you and I…I didn’t look at it as murder. But what I did after that, what I did recently…”

“I don’t care,” Ryan crosses his arms, his stance unyielding, “I don’t care. They’re demons and they’re demons who did some really fucked up shit so, y’know, I’m-I’m not going to be heartbroken about it and I’m not going to blame you for it. I mean, what if-what if…”

At first, he’s afraid he won’t be able to ask, but Ryan manages to push the question out, “What if our situations were reversed?”

Shane stares at him and Ryan feels his heart pick up in its beating, but this time for a less than fun reasons, “What if…what if _I_ was the one smiting demons. What…what would you think then?”

A harsh snicker leaves Shane at that, “That’s not even debatable, Ryan. Because you would never do that.”

A lump forms in Ryan’s throat at those words. It grows bigger as Shane adds, “You’re a good guy, Ryan. Good and lawful. You’d never take a life. Never.”

For a moment, Ryan’s afraid he’s not going to be able to answer. He’s afraid he’s going to-to break down or squeak or something but instead he just hears himself ask, “Even if it was to save you?”

“Save me?” Shane chuckles bitterly, “Too little, too late, my friend.”

And boy, don’t those words sting? Ryan absorbs them even as Shane tacks on, “Besides, what would you have to save me from?”

 _More like who_ , Ryan almost says. Almost. But instead Shane changes the subject, “And even if I did want you to find me, I’d have never wanted you to bring _Sara_ along for the ride.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know she brought herself along,” Ryan manages to answer, ears still ringing from Shane’s response to his question. For his part, Shane seems somewhat cheered now, even going back to his sandwich for a tentative bite, “Hmm, to be fair, that _does_ sound like her. Real spitfire that one.”

And while Ryan’s still reeling from one thing, why not go for another? “Why did you never…never…?” Shane looks at him and he manages to finish the question, “Never bond her?”

Shane directs all his attention back to the sandwich, looking somewhat guilty, “I don’t know. It just-? It never came up.”

Ryan’s willing to leave it at that. Shane, surprisingly, isn’t, “Come to think of it, I-I don’t even think we ever really broke up.”

“Yeah, she mentioned that,” Ryan says and at Shane’s terrified mien he quickly supplies, “Not that she was upset about it. More…casual.”

“Casual,” Shane repeats and nods, “Yeah. That describes us to a ‘T’. Sara and I. We were…casual. I mean, in many ways I still love her but it’s-? It’s more like now I love her, but I’m not ‘in’ love with her.”

The way he looks at Ryan is almost heartbreaking it’s so childlike, “Do-? Do you think that’s okay?”

Ryan mulls this over before nodding, “Yeah. Yeah, I think so. I think she probably feels the same way. She said in another life you two would probably be ride or die or something but here...” he drops off and Shane prods him, “Here?”

“Um,” Ryan feels his own face flush, “Here she said it’d be you and me.”

“Did she?” Shane asks in awe and after another nod, Ryan swears he hears Shane say under his breath ‘clever girl’. But he can’t confirm that before the taller man asks, “You done?”

Ryan looks at his half-finished sandwich and finds he can’t bring himself to finish it, so he nods. The two walk back towards the Inn and, while doing so, Ryan risks another question, “How’d your appointment with the physician go?”

There’s no immediate answer and just as Ryan’s anxiety starts getting worked up, Shane breathes, “Complicated.”

And that answer doesn’t help Ryan’s dilemma at all. He stops walking and, catching sight of his face, Shane draws back to stand next to him. He pats his shoulder, “It’s-it’s nothing bad, little guy. Just…confusing. A lot of changes since, y’know…” he draws his hand away, “Not to mention some stuff to figure out.”

“Stuff to figure out? Like what?”

Again, Shane seems unwilling to say more and Ryan says, “Hey, thought we were going for more honesty…”

“We are, we are,” Shane replies, “But, just like needing space, I…I also need time.”

Ryan just looks at him and Shane looks back, “It really is nothing bad. I promise. Just…give me a _little_ time?”

He doesn’t even need to think about it, his response easy, “Yeah. Sure, man. I can do that.”

They start walking again and just as they approach the Inn, Ryan feels something flick his face. At first, he thinks it’s just a bug, but then there’s another flick right along his right cheek, this one more prominent. He rubs at the spot and then looks around, trying to figure out where it came from when he spots something crouching in the nearby bushes.

Or someone.

The streetlamps around the Inn aren’t particularly bright, but he can just make out a face between bunches of leaves. Swallowing a groan he turns to Shane, “You head on up. I gotta get something out of my car.”

Shane’s eyebrows rise at that, but Ryan just looks sheepish, “Pocket bible.”

This earns him a laugh and a ‘fine’ and thankfully Shane leaves. Ryan waits until he’s well out of sight before jogging up to the bush and glaring at it’s occupant, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“My job,” Malthazor grumps, “Whether I like it or not.”

“Your job is to hide in bushes and throw shit at me?” Ryan rubs at his face again, “Jesus, what did you even throw?”

Malthazor holds up a peanut and Ryan peers deeper into the bushes, “Sara with you?”

“No, she just gave me a lift. Said she’s too busy working on some video for that company you two knuckleheads work for. You know you’re wasting one of the greatest portal jockeys of all time at an internet company, right?”

“Sara wanted to work there, okay? That’s her choice.”

Malthazor makes a sound that suggests that that is beyond insulting even as Ryan hisses, “Why are you even here? Much less crouching in the bushes? You could have just called!”

“Uh, no, I couldn’t just call,” Malthazor holds up a case, “I had to deliver this and the only way to do it is face to face! Not to mention I have some papers I need you to sign and an _angel_ , you sent an angel to my office! My place of business! It was-it was so gross and demeaning!”

“I-?” Ryan is stalls for only a second, “Raziel came to the DMV?”

Just saying that aloud is beyond ridiculous. Ryan almost feels breathless from it, wanting to – to laugh or cry or yell or something, but Malthazor is already way ahead of him, clearly choosing yell out of all the options, “He came to my office, yes. This slick, winged up, overly poncy bastard was ordering me around and, I can’t confirm this, was also hitting on me at the same time!”

“Nah, that’s just the way he talks.”

“Either way: EW,” Malthazor sounds the last word out, drawing the letters so it sounds more like ‘e-wah’ and Ryan can only roll his eyes, “Then he fills me in on your latest venture and I gotta say, not a fan, but whatever – I’m never a fan of the things you and Madej choose to do, but I’m your liaison so I guess my opinion doesn’t matter jack to either of-”

“Does this have a point?” Ryan cuts through his rambling, “Because I can’t be out here forever! Shane and the others’ll get suspicious and we have a show to shoot!”

“Right, right,” Malthazor put down the case to hold up the satchel Ryan used in New Orleans, “Here, take this.”

Ryan’s face scrunches with confusion and Malthazor sighs, tone dropping to the sort of patient tone parents use with their children, “Your demon hunting gear, boss.”

“My…?”

“Look,” Mal lowers the satchel as he grouses, “There’s a lot I have to explain, alright? And those papers I need you to sign and I came here because I have to, okay? Because it’s easier than a phone call or a text and I don’t want any kind of trail on this, so-”

“Right, right,” Ryan cuts in again and he looks back at the Inn, weighing his options, before looking back at Mal, “I’ve got to take care if my real job first, okay? I’ll go inside, do my filming, pretend to turn in for the night and I’ll…I’ll meet you here.”

“Here?!” Mal cries, “In the bushes?! No, I don’t think so!”

“Well, what do _you_ suggest?” Ryan seethes, “You’re the one tossing peanuts and wanting secrecy!”

“There’s an all-night diner about a block away! Jenny’s! Meet me there!”

“Fine!” Ryan snaps but he makes sure to ruffle the branches of the bushes some before he walks away, chuckling to himself when he catches Mal muttering, “Oh yeah! Real mature, boss!”

But as he walks away, Ryan’s situation really begins to sink in and he feels his palms begin to sweat again. Tonight.

 _Tonight_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay between chapters. For those who don't follow my tumblr, I had a personal family issue that kept me from this story. Everything seems rather resolved now, but with all of that, it took a while to get my frame of mind back into this world. Hopefully this chapter isn't too shabby after such a long break and hopefully future chapters will be more frequent like they once were. Thanks!


	9. Chapter 9

The amount of syrup Malthazor is putting on his pancakes is obscene.

Ryan watches in disgust as the demon just drenches the breakfast food. God, he ditched the Inn for this? Granted, he was going to do that at some point tonight, but it was going to be later. Much, much later. Now here he is – watching a demon with an apparent sweet tooth go ape shit over syrup. So much so that he can’t help but quip, “Hey, you planning on having some pancakes with your syrup?”

“Ha, ha,” the demon returns dryly as he finally puts down the syrup dispenser (which, by the by, is now almost empty after being damn near full when he started), “I’ll have you know that it’s a common dietary quirk – demons love sugar.”

Ryan’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead, “Really?”

Mal nods, sucking off some of the syrup that dribbled on to his fingers, “Yup. Why do you think so many of us are repelled by salt? Speaking of…”

He takes his fork and uses it to gently push the salt shaker closer to Ryan. Ryan watches with fascination, “I’ve never noticed Shane to have any, ah, quirks. Well,” he quickly corrects himself, “Not food related ones anyway.”

“Yeah, but he’s also an ex-angel. They _like_ salt. So, y’know, between the two…” he shakes one hand in a back and forth motion before he starts digging deep into his plate of syrup and the sight (which is revolting) reminds Ryan why he’s here, “You said you had some papers for me to sign?”

Mal nods, mouth full, as he puts down his utensils and reaches for his case. He draws out several papers and hands them to Ryan. Ryan reads over each with a trained eye, “‘Application for Demon Hunting License’, ‘Right to Carry/Be in Posession of Otherworldly Hunting Gear’ – what is all this?”

“Mmm,” Mal tries to answer but has food in his mouth. It’s clearly a struggle for him to swallow all of it, so while Ryan waits, he continues to read. He sees choice bits about ‘Holy Ordained Articles’ and ‘Blessed Actions’. Great. More legalese.

Finally Mal manages to speak albeit muffled, “What you need to get started. Before, when you were just looking for Madej, it was all on the up and up. He was your bondmate, so seeking him out or ‘hunting’ him was more than acceptable but now, oh boy, _now_ …”

The demon digs deeper into the food, his actions speaking volumes. It’s clear he’s peeved and Ryan sighs, “You said you take issue with what I’m doing?”

Another dry ‘ha, ha’ of laughter, “Yeah, that’s one way of putting it!”

Malthazor drops his fork and sits back in the cushy booth of Jenny’s Diner, his expression stormy, “Demon hunting is a slippery slope, boss. The job is normally reserved for supernaturally born professionals or those angel pricks. It is not something humans take up – even ones aware of our world and the ones that do? Honestly? They’re looked down on.”

“Yeah?”

He nods, arms crossing, “They never even really bother to figure out how our society _actually_ works. And they _certainly_ don’t fill out the necessary paperwork! I mean, can you imagine? Without this, any yahoo could just drive around the country and murk my guys left and right! It’d be chaos! Anarchy! We have laws!”

“Laws?” Ryan puts it like a question, but his dead tone implies what he thinks of that, so Mal bends, “Okay, yeah – not-not laws, so much as _rules_. We have rules, Ryan! Shane must have at last told you about that!”

“Well, he did tell me he was barred from telling me he was a demon. That there were consequences for that, but it was sorta waived once he bonded me.”

“Yes! See, great example! That’s a rule. A firm rule we all keep – no mortals are supposed to know about us. We have a shit ton of stuff in place to keep it that way - Clean Up and the Council of False Humanities and so on. We work at our anonymity and Hunters can…complicate that.”

“How so?”

Mal uncrosses his arms, eyes on his food and it’s clear he wants more. Ryan just points to in a sort of ‘go ahead’ gesture and the demon looks happy to comply, resuming his scarfing even as he resumes talking, “Well, angels typically clean up their own messes. They’re too fucking anal _not_ to. Approved Hunters, however, have to do their best to keep things orderly. They’re basically acting like contracted assassins, so, the neatness of their kills falls on them.”

Ryan frowns, eyebrows knitting together, “But when Shane was going around wiping out cabal guys left and right, Clean Up was always behind him.”

Mal hums, “That’s different. See, when a demon goes after another demon – that’s a whole other set of rules. They’re almost always recognized as challenges and challenges are respected, revered even. A challenge is one demon destroying another for power and prestige – for a chance to climb the power ladder and ascend, so, that’s almost always okayed. Especially if the demon in question succeeds and garners a lot of power and, as you know, Madej did that.”

“He did,” Ryan murmurs but his thoughts can’t help but go to how he didn’t do it very successfully. If he had, Ryan wouldn’t be in the position he’s in now.

“The only thing a demon has to worry about when taking out another demon is retribution from that demon’s cabal. Obviously Madej was going after his own cabal, so the fallout from that is…murky at best.”

“It’s not,” Ryan clarifies, “Because I’m finishing it.”

This seems to stall Malthazor, “You’re…?”

Ryan groans, “Did Raziel fill you in or not?”

“He-? Sort of? Like I said, it-it was a weird conversation…”

Ryan sits up, “There are a couple of Madej cabal members left. That stupid prophecy says Shane is the last, so the others have to be, ah…hunted.”

“Ah! I see! That makes sense!” Malthazor seems much happier after this confidence and Ryan easily concludes why, “You thought I was just going to go around hunting just _any_ demons?”

“Big shock – the angel was vague,” Mal snickers, “I mean, I stand behind what I said about demon hunting being a slippery slope, but knowing you have a solid reason behind it helps. Besides, the Madej cabal is,” he winces, “Yikes. I mean, I respect their legacy, because they’ve been around longer than I have – seen and done things I’ll never do, but some of the things they’ve done and still do are just – I mean, now that I’ve done the research? It’s-it’s just gross.”

It’s nice that Malthazor’s mood has improved, because Ryan’s continues to sink. Oblivious, the demon marches on, “Makes sense now that I think about it. While I couldn’t actually read the prophecy in question, it was sorta summed up to me by a higher level with access and I _do_ recall that bit about him being the last.”

This captures Ryan’s interest, “You know the whole thing?”

Malthazor is reaching the end of his breakfast and looking a bit bereft about it, “Kinda. Mean, I told you before, back when Shane first ran off. Something about a low-level demon rising to near godhood and then there’s this bit about souls and power and I’ll be honest, I just zeroed in on the power part because having Shane as a client means that any rise _he_ takes helps me, you know, with promotions and bonuses and-!”

The demon continues to ramble on and on about his job benefits while Ryan’s mind just swirls over and over one word. Souls. Was his soul – his fracturing it, giving part of it to Shane – destined to happen? He agrees with Shane that fate and destiny are bullshit and yet this? This is…eerie. He’s just starting to wonder how much a part he plays in the prophecy himself when Mal draws up his case and Ryan’s satchel, “…and since you’re clearly not listening to me, maybe you’ll listen to this! Like I said earlier, I got hunter gear for you.”

Ryan does catch this, “Hunter gear?”

“Yeah – knew _that_ would grab your attention. Never mind how _I’m_ doing, thanks,” Mal sulks even as he nudges the satchel towards Ryan, “Some of the guys and gals at the W &W Department touched this up for you, so now it’s got an interdimensional pocket inside it.”

“Whoa, okaaaay,” Ryan eyes the satchel, “And those were a whole lot of new words I don’t know.”

“W&W Department,” Mal threads his fingers in front of him and has the air of a patient teacher lecturing a troubled student, “Stands for Witches and Warlocks – or Wizards, I dunno, they toss up on which word they want to use all the damn time, but the point is – they’re tech guys and gals. Engineers. Cutting edge creators who make all kinds of fancy shit.”

“Yeah, that I’ve heard before.”

“Madej?”

“Physician, actually.”

“Christ, does your bondmate ever tell you _anything_?”

Ryan ignores the question, eyes still on the satchel, “You were saying something about a pocket?”

Malthazor sighs and opens the satchel, “An interdimensional pocket – they’re not cheap, but, being your advisor, I accessed some of the funds Madej’s accumulated from his various smited acquisitions. The pocket is bottomless and mentally suggestible, depending on what you’ve placed inside. For example…”

The demon reaches inside and draws out an apple. This isn’t all that impressive until he keeps going. He draws out a toy boat, textbooks, a bowling ball – all things that shouldn’t fit inside a satchel that’s only a little over six inches in length. When he draws out a cane, Ryan’s practically over the moon, “It’s a Mary Poppins bag!”

“I don’t know who that is, but sure,” Malthazor puts everything back in and it’s so much fun to witness. But also troublesome. How is no one else seeing this? But then, the diner is rather empty. Mal must pick up on his unasked question, “Hate to break it to you, pal, but mortals aren’t very observant. You’d be surprised at the stuff we get by you. Surprised and kinda embarrassed. Speakin’ of embarrassing…”

The demon edges closer and raises one hand to hide his mouth as he whispers, “Judy was the one who got this first when it came in and she wanted me to tell you she put, ah, special gear inside for you. In case you need it.”

“Special gear?” Ryan’s voice is truly quizzical but as the demon’s face reddens he realizes what the ‘special gear’ most likely is. After all, this _is_ the same woman who gave Shane an overly elaborate hot pink dildo. He colors too as he clears his throat, “Oh! Ah…”

Malthazor just draws out a soft ‘yeah’ before lowering his hand and picking up the case. He clicks it open and twirls it towards Ryan, “If you could just lift up the seal here…”

Ryan sees a tight, frosted seal over some items inside the case and, flicking a few latches inside, he manages to remove it as Mal continues, “Before you is the hunting gear you need. Naturally, I can’t touch any of it, all of it potentially harmful to my person.”

“This?” Ryan points at one item in the case,” Is harmful to anyone!”

The item he’s pointed to is very clearly _a gun_. The mere sight of which has his anxiety rising tenfold. His head whips about to see if anyone is looking as he hisses, “Quick! Shut the case! What if someone-!”

Malthazor lowers the lid, “No one’s gonna see anything if you just play it cool and no – it won’t hurt just anyone, because it’s a very special piece that only carries a very special kind of ammo, which – if you’ll stop freaking out about and _look_ at, is to one side of the weapon.”

The demon raises the lid again and Ryan sees the bullets to one side, but they’re very unusual. While the cartridge case appears to be lead, the tip looks like frozen water. Ryan can’t help himself, reaching inside to draw out on the bullets. It’s so small, so strange. It feels…cold. He twirls it between his fingers and Mal looks nervous, sweat beading on his upper lip, “It’s…y’know, holy water.”

Ryan’s eyes grow wide, “You’re shitting me.”

“Psh, wish I _was_. Those little babies are super hard to come by and they’re enchanted out the wazoo. If you were to try and shoot one of these at a mortal, it’d dissolve. Go poof! You shoot this at a demon? And it’s good night, Gracie.”

Ryan goes to put the bullet back but Mal just shakes his head vehemently, “No. Put-put it in the satchel. The others too. And-and the weapon, if you please.”

Ryan looks around and, once satisfied he’s not being watched, does as instructed. Everything slides easily into the satchel, proving that the bottomless description is indeed accurate. Malthazor moves on to the next few items, pointing to them and giving a brief description, “Salt bombs. You toss it at one of us and it’ll explode – really nasty, that. Light orb. You’ve actually mentioned these on your show. They follow you around like your own personal firefly, provide light and – in rare instances – can power up bright enough to harm vampires, shadow creatures and so on. Then you’ve got some med kits there – automated ones that can fix up scratches, broken bones, things of that nature in a snap.”

“What’s this?” Ryan picks up what looks like a silver pen and Malthazor sighs, “That lil’ guy is actually pretty neat! I can’t touch him, but I’ll admit some envy on my part that you can. It’s what’s called an Endless Weapon. They’re constructed from a blend of pure silver, iron, and some other materials that I don’t really know about, mainly because I’m not _allowed_ to know. Supposedly ‘divine’ materials, holy artifacts, things like that.”

“…it looks like a pen.”

“Just,” Mal waves to it, “Think of something, anything, weapon-y.”

Ryan just shrugs, but his mind apparently is all set, conjuring up the stake he used on Shane and, the very moment the memory visualizes in his mind, the pen changes.

“WHOA!” Ryan cries out as it morphs in his very hand, changing shape like living water until it resembles the stake. He holds it out in front of him like it’s a deadly thing which, he supposes, it is. Malthazor shifts back into his seat and as far away from it as he can, “Yeah! S-so, that’s what it can do.”

Ryan pulls the stake close, inspects it. He thinks about a dagger. Again, the metal shifts and changes, alters its shape until it resembles a deadly looking dagger. Ryan catches his reflection in the blade and can’t help but grin, “Cool!”

“It is,” Malthazor concedes, “Albeit terrifying.”

Ryan points the tip in the demon’s direction, “Is this like the bullets?”

“Yup,” he mutters, “It’ll melt if you try to use it on a mortal. You go for a supernatural creature? It’ll tear ‘em to shreds. Or stab them, burn them, impale them – I don’t know. Whatever you change it into and use it for, I guess.”

Slipping the pen into the satchel, Ryan eyes the last item in the case, a long clear crystal secured on a thin black cord, “I’m not really a necklace kinda guy.”

“Oh, you’ll want that necklace. Yeah, that crystal there? That’ll collect the energy from any demon you kill. You’re not a demon yourself, so the energy won’t naturally gravitate towards you. After all, mortals don’t level. Hell, the only way you took the energy that healed you was by Madej’s intervention. This lil’ baby?”

He reaches inside the case with the spoon he didn’t use earlier, using the slim end of the handle to fish out the black cord, “It’ll draw the energy into it. Keep a Void from being created, or so was the myth that we now know to be fact. Energy goes into the crystal and then you can dispose of it properly.”

“How do I-?”

“Hmm, that’s the part I don’t know,” Mal offers the necklace to him by pushing the spoon closer to his face, “Hunters keep some secrets to themselves. Think your angel buddy’ll probably come to collect it. Angels do this sorta crap all the time.”

Ryan lets out a dreary sigh as he easily unhooks the necklace, tossing it around his neck. He notices a little knot that makes it adjustable and fiddles with that until it’s just the right length to hide beneath his shirt. Once that’s done and everything’s tucked into his satchel, Ryan draws the piece on, strapping it around his waist, the bulk of it falls against one of his thighs and he winces, “I look like Tomb Raider.”

Malthazor has nothing to add to that, instead grabbing the papers near Ryan. He ushers them right beneath Ryan’s nose again and pulls out a pen. He makes the ‘sign’ gesture and, taking the pen, Ryan does. He writes his name on the dotted line in various tabbed spots and, once that’s complete, Mal takes the paperwork back up, putting it back into his case.

The demon looks quite relieved now that the whole business is over, snatching up far too many sugar packets to count and ripping off their tops to dump into his coffee. Suddenly the diner seems alive again, Ryan hears voices and sees people and it’s so odd. For a little while it was as if only the two of them were there and now? Now they’re real again, surrounded by other people – surrounded by _the world_.

The unreality of his reality officially ends as the waitress comes over, “You boys need anything else?”

Ryan shakes his head, “Just the check.”

“No! Hey, wait!” Mal looks at her eagerly, “Are-are you Jenny? Is she here?”

Ryan looks at the other man as if he’s crazy. He can’t be that naïve. But, apparently, he is, the demon all smiles, “‘Cause I’d love to thank her for those pancakes, they were simple phenomenal!”

The waitress shoots a ‘is he for real?’ look at Ryan who hisses, “There’s no ‘Jenny’, _Michael_. That’s just this place’s name.”

Hearing his fake name seems to ring a bell for Mal, who lets out a gentle ‘oh’ and the waitress offers him a pitying smile as she wanders off. Mal laughs and drinks his sugar coffee, “Yeah, I-I don’t get out of the office much.”

“Obviously.”

“Not to mention human culture makes zero sense.”

“Human culture makes zero sense?” Ryan repeats, stunned because – what? Is the demon kidding? Human culture makes far more sense than the world he’s apart of, but Mal has his reasons as he says, “Yeah, well, I mean – why name a restaurant after someone who doesn’t even work here?”

The waitress comes back with the receipt, “Here. Just take this and pay up front. Thanks for seeing us today.”

Ryan only offers a nod but Malthazor isn’t done, “So, what _is_ your name?”

The waitress offers a dry smile and points to her name tag. Mal squints as he reads ‘Viola’ aloud and then just gasps loudly, “Like Viola Davis?!”

He looks at her with such wide, guileless eyes that she just shoots Ryan the look again. Ryan is one part helpless and another annoyed, “Dude, she’s not Viola Davis!”

Mal looks the waitress up and down, “But she looks like her!”

“Annnd, we’re leaving,” Ryan takes a firm grip of one of Mal’s arms as he rises from the booth, “We’re leaving right now.”

“I love ‘How to Get Away with Murder’! Television needs more shows like that! Shows that promote people just-just breaking commandments left and right and-and-!”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, you overly excitable idiot,” Ryan practically drags the demon up to the stand to pay, pushing him out of the restaurant (and his presence) as quickly as possible.

 

+

 

The abandoned suite of buildings carries the worst feeling to it.

The outer walls are covered in graffiti and every single door and window is locked up tight, in some cases they’re _barred_. It’s hard to say what they were long ago. Maybe lawyers’ offices or financial businesses. Maybe both. Certainly it had once been home to something normal, safe - certainly nothing sinister.

But now? Now it _bleeds_ a sinister energy. It feels awful. Dark and uncomfortable. _Misery_ , Ryan’s mind supplies. It feels like _misery_. He wants nothing more than to turn around and leave. He wants nothing more than to just go back to the Inn. Hell, anywhere – _anywhere_ would be better than here. It actually feels like the area is actively trying to push him away. He’s never wanted to go as far away from a place as possible in his entire life.

But he stays, because he has a mission. He grips the necklace, fiddles with it and it seems to offer a strange sense of calm. While some squabbling mess in his mind wants to flee, he remains firm, unmoved. Fight beats out flight as he reaches into his satchel. The inside feels normal, but as he thinks of the Endless Weapon it’s as if someone presses it into his hand.

Ryan sees the silver pen in his grip and he finds himself mumbling under his breath, “You turn into anything, huh?”

He eyes the thick, nasty looking chains looped around a set of handles to one of the entrances. He pictures bolt cutters and, without a second’s hesitation, the pen shifts to its new form. Ryan cuts through the chains like they’re nothing. They fall with a nasty clatter.

Ryan winces, but he knows no one heard him. There’s no one around. The closest street lamp is several feet away, this suite of buildings tucked off to one side, an eyesore, a forgotten remnant of a time long since passed. He has no idea why this place hasn’t been demolished, why the city hasn’t destroyed it but as he walks inside, he just - he _knows_ why.

Because the terrible feeling washes over him again. It’s like a pure, raw force. Like being pushed by a giant ocean wave. He quails under it for a moment and the squabbling mess in his mind is screaming now, begging him to leave. Again, he pushes past it. He puts the pen back in his satchel, feels it float out of his grip and he summons the light orb.

A soft warmth fills the palm of his hand and when he draws it out it floats up. His own personal firefly indeed. He can’t help but smile at the sight of the little orange bulb. It reminds him a bit of the physician’s memo recorder. It hovers near him, providing a little beacon of light as he moves farther into the building. Crushed office chairs and broken desks are littered everywhere. There’s a rank scent to the air – old rainwater, mold, and something else unpleasant.

The demon he’s after, Ziggy, is known to mostly feed on the homeless and other transients foolish enough to find their way inside. Their bodies are usually discovered outside the building or on the soggy, dilapidated roof. _When_ bodies are found. According to the notes, Ziggy tends to, quote, ‘swallow his victims whole’. Nice.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, Ryan does his best not to run into the various piles of debris on the floor. The place is a rat’s nest of random shit and it’s so dark inside. Too dark. The orb does it’s best to illuminate the area around him, but it can only do so much. He reaches into the satchel for the pen once more, pictures it as a flashlight.

With this addition it’s a little easier to see, but not by much. He ducks into various rooms, opens doors – checks every nook and cranny he can, but nothing jumps out at him. It’s all abandoned. Stale. Empty. But the deeper he goes, the more the misery builds culminating into a horrific, suffocating dread. Ryan doesn’t know how, but he’s getting _closer_.

He pushes forward through the shadows and a door just…calls to him. It’s to one side, the frame warped, the knob dripping wet. He turns it and the hinges creak as the door draws back to reveal stairs. Rickety wooden stairs that go _down_.

“Fuck,” he breathes on a warbling crack, “Of course.”

The orb circles around his head, as if concerned – as if _alive_. It seems to say: draw back. It seems to say: turn around. Hell, it might as well say that old, tired quote: Abandon all hope, ye who enter here. It says everything but what Ryan does. Which is go further. He reaches one foot out, tentatively testing the top step. It whines, but it doesn’t break. It’s sturdy.

Letting out a hefty gust of air, he tests the next step. Solid. Then the next, then the next and so on and so on until he’s just…going down. There’s a hand rail, slick with fungus, but he risks it – uses it as he continues his traverse down to god knows what. The underworld, maybe? His heart is hammering so hard that it’s all he can hear. It beats like a wild drum and his mouth is dry as dust.

He wishes Shane was here. Shane would make a joke. Shane would make this feel normal. Shane would make everything okay. Shane would make it so Ryan doesn’t cry and fuck, he _feels_ like crying. His eyes are wet, his fear so palpable as to strangle him, yet he doesn’t falter. He can do this, he knows he can.

 _Foolish to come alone_ , his thoughts seethe _, you should have just told Shane. You shouldn’t have come alone. You shouldn’t-!_

Ryan reaches the bottom of the stairs. He has no idea where the hell he is. The floor is a long slab of dark concrete that just…goes on and on. An infinite, unfinished basement and as he lifts the flashlight he doesn’t see the walls. _That’s_ how big the space is. How vast. It’s as if this area stretches entirely beneath all the suites above and he wanders around the pitch-black space, looking for something. Looking for _anything_.

The orb follows behind, ever dutiful, but it casts no light on anything of substance. It’s all empty air and space. Space – that’s a good way to think of it. It’s as if Ryan is lost in a dark, cold, starless cosmos. The dread and misery still weigh on him, but somehow it seems…less. But in a way where he – well –  it’s almost as if he feels like he’s being fucked with. Like Ziggy is toying with him.

He presses on and suddenly, it’s as if Shane _is_ with him, he can hear his friend’s voice – confident and brash: _Hey! Ziggy! Come on out! Flick one of my butt cheeks! Left, right – I ain’t picky! Or hey, why-why don’t you stick your tongue in my ear! Give me a lil’ wet willy!_

The thought makes him grin and then he hears himself, his voice echoing out in the dark abyss, “If anyone is there and you-you want to reach out…let your presence be known…”

It’s what he would say if Shane was here. It’s what he’d say if they were filming the show. It seems like the right thing to say, to do. Just…try to pretend. Pretend he doesn’t know supernatural, hocus-pocus crap is all around him. Pretend that he doesn’t know demons are real. Just…pretend he’s the guy he was over a year ago. The one that didn’t know any better. The one that, deep down, really did think that some of this was pure BS.

Not the person he is now. The one who knows better. The one who’s hunting monsters in the dark. The one with half a soul and that hole inside seems to swell, expand. It feels like it’s eating him alive as he tries again, words wavering, “I don’t _want_ to talk to you, but, you know…if you’re here and-and feeling chatty…”

The flashlight zips across the floor as he moves forward and he’s several steps in when he catches sight of a pool of murky, dark water. He spans the light over it and it stretches on and on, concrete lost beneath its oil slick surface. He crouches down near the pool and, casting his light upwards, wonders where it came from. Burst pipes? Busted water heater or septic tank? The dry, rotted beams above offer no clues, so he moves the light back to the water.

Tiny insects hover over it, zip around and what looks like an invisible finger glides along the top, rippling the water's surface. He shudders because it…doesn’t seem natural. And then he feels it. It’s an inexplicable feeling, but one every living creature possesses – that feeling, that knowledge, of knowing you’re not alone.

Not anymore.

Someone…something. It’s _here_.

Ryan’s throat squeezes, stomach tying itself into knots as sweat breaks out on his forehead. He doesn’t hear anything, but that’s just it. He doesn’t _hear_ anything. The air around him is pin-drop silent. Even his breathing and heartbeat are soundless and there’s this…movement. He can’t see it, but he knows it’s right behind him, just behind his back. An…unfurling of limbs, a shift in the depths of the dark and his Adam’s apple bobs as he closes his eyes.

He draws in a breath through his nose, the noise of the action almost deafening as he steels himself, and then abruptly turns. He twists about as best he can in his current position and his flashlight catches the demon full in the face. It’s grotesque, barely bordering on human. It has a snow-white, gaunt face, no lips -  just flat, broad teeth and its eyes…

It has no eyelids. Just large, stark, bulbous eyes that glisten like unpeeled, hardboiled eggs – pupils’ tiny black beads that seem to pulsate in the light. A rattling hiss rumbles from within its rangy frame and it opens its mouth to reveal a thick, forked tongue that has scales like a snake’s. Its horns and wings are red but veined, dark black running throughout all of it and its claws are curved, webbed, and Ryan falls back with a cry as it advances on him, tries to pounce.

The flashlight proves to be an effective deterrent as he raises it in self-defense between them. Ziggy's (or better to say in this moment, Zig'drozok’s) teeth latch onto the flashlight’s handle and, while Zig'drozok obvious intention was to go for Ryan’s face, the handle offers more than just protection for Ryan. It proves its mettle as Zig'drozok lets out an ear-piercing shriek, steam rising from its mouth.

The Endless Weapon, while currently a flashlight, is still made from materials that hurt demons, something Zig'drozok just learned the hard way. While it reels back from that, Ryan’s hand darts into his satchel. He’s not thinking, working off adrenaline and instinct alone, as he wraps his fingers around one of the salt bombs. He draws it out and jams it deep into Zig'drozok’s currently wailing mouth.

The bomb bursts and the demon’s shrieks grow louder. It draws itself off Ryan and practically gyrates in place, twitching in revolting, animal-like movements as it reacts to unexpected pain. Clearly the demon wasn’t expecting Ryan to fight back, to have weapons, and Ryan feels water soak into his clothes as he drags himself back towards the pool behind him, as he draws himself back a safe distance.

Now, with the demon off of him, he tries to think of something, anything he can use to further his attack. Unfortunately for him, Zig'drozok recovers quickly, angrily. It lashes out at him, wings impacting with his body, knocking him farther back into the water where random, sharp debris awaits.

Ryan has no idea what the fuck is beneath this water but he shouts in pain as it cuts into his skin, doing its best to slice him to ribbons. So; much like the demon did, he quickly pulls away from the source of his pain. He darts forward, closer to the demon, who is clearly eager for this.

Having finally recovered from Ryan’s attacks, its claws are wide open, eyes glittering with hatred as it hisses again, tongue flickering out like a challenge. Ryan catches sight of the flashlight and wildly scrabbles towards it. He just gets his fingers around the light when Zig'drozok catches his ankle, tugging him hard.

Ryan’s arms fly up as he tries to soften his fall, but the crown of his forehead still meets with the concrete pretty hard. It doesn’t knock him out, but it does daze him, starbursts dancing before his eyes as the demon tries to draw Ryan beneath it again, clearly the sort of creature that likes to have its prey underneath it when it feeds.

Which, apparently, is for the best. Because while this whole encounter has been a messy, uncoordinated affair – it has also been brutally simple. A wrestling struggle that can only end with one victor and Ryan knows he’s it, as the flashlight, the Endless Weapon, changes in his hands.

It becomes a long, pointed spear and, rolling over to face the creature, he lets out a wild cry. He drives the spear high and up, planting it directly into the demon’s center mass. He shoves forward with all his strength, muscles in his arms working as he grunts, pushes.

He did this with Shane. He drove a stake into Shane and felt this same resistance. Muscles and bones and sinew parting unwilling. With Shane it had been a terrible feeling, a sickening one.

This? Ryan feels a burst of joy at this. A burst of unbridled pleasure as he drives the weapon further home, as he shoves and shoves, feels it sink harder and deeper into Zig'drozok. A loud snap rings out as the demon just…explodes. It dissolves into energy and that energy zeroes straight into the crystal around Ryan’s neck.

Ryan lets out a ragged sound and falls back, lies on the cold, wet, concrete floor, spear still tight in his grip. The orb, which he forgot all about, zooms around him in circles above his face, worried. He looks at it and he just...he can’t help it. He laughs. It’s a warm, rolling chuckle and he just laughs and laughs because…he did it.

 _He did it_!

The place feels cleared now. Benign. The suites are still dank and smelly, but the malevolent energy is gone. Ryan lies there laughing, feeling lighter and freer than he’s felt in a long time, the hole inside of him shrinking. No. Not shrinking. Satisfied. Sated.

The realization of this stalls his humor, one of his hands going to the crystal on his necklace. He squeezes it tightly, feels the warmth of the mysterious stone press into his palm. It feels so…good. Right. He feels…

He blinks up at the orb, “Shit…”

His free hand rubs at his eyes. The way he feels right now…

… _Shane_ …

 

+

 

Shane is wrapped deep in the cocoon of his blankets and sheets at the Inn. He keeps dozing in and out, the Inn room’s lights out. He wonders idly when Ryan came in. He’s sure he did. He might not have heard it, but Ryan values sleep as much as he does. He’s sure his friend climbed into his bed at some point.

In their efforts to take things slow, they made sure that –  for this shoot – they had a room with two beds. Normally they have no trouble sharing, but with their current…situation, Ryan managed to coerce Buzzfeed into popping for a room with a double. No one really raised any eyebrows at it. Why would they? And the price for the room was actually a bit cheaper, so – smiles all around.

They filmed a bit of their journey in the room in itself, in their lying there, waiting for ghosties. But, when none were forth coming (big surprise) Mark and the others called it a night and left. As had Ryan – he said something about wanting to go out for a drink, maybe a late-night snack, and Shane saw no reason to stop him.

Better if they did their own separate thing anyway, right? Besides, Shane has a bit of a…problem. Mainly that of keeping himself collected. Once Ryan stepped out he’d just let himself go. Let himself dissolve into the strange ether that seems to want to take place of his corporeal form. He’d spent a lot of his time this way when he’d been on the road – maybe _that’s_ why it’s hard to keep a solid shape these days?

When he’d been Void fueled, there had been little to no need for food, drink, hygiene, or sleep. There’d also been no need for a physical body. It’d been…easier. Giving himself fully to the shadows. Letting himself be consumed by them. Now? Now he has a desire for all the things he used to, but he’s finding them hard to hold on to. They slip between his fingers like grains of sand.

And, apparently, the only fix to that is to bond Ryan. At least according to the physician and Shane has no idea how he wants to broach that with his friend. Hell, he really doesn’t even _want_ to broach it with him. Because he knows exactly what Ryan will say. Ryan will say yes. After all, Ryan sacrificed his soul – why not sacrifice his freedom?

But Shane doesn’t want to bond Ryan like that. For fuck’s sake – they haven’t even really _dated_. He wants that. He wants the normal, human convention of dating and taking their time. If they’re going to do this, he wants to do it right. Call him old fashioned, but that’s what he wants. Maybe he wouldn’t have wanted that before, ah…

Shit, what _is_ ‘before’? It’s hard to say what it was like at this point. He’s gone through so many goddamn transformations of late. Rising in level, becoming void fueled, and now half souled. Honestly? Shane misses his level one days. It was all so much simpler then. However, he and Ryan weren’t going in the direction they’re going in now at that time – so, maybe change isn’t _completely_ a bad thing.

He's right on the razor’s edge of falling asleep again when the door to the room opens and closes in rapid succession. He hears hurried feet and then the squeaking sound of springs as Ryan (?) plops down on his bed and Jesus, is Ryan _just_ getting in?! The lamp between the beds clicks on and Ryan sounds edgy as he smacks at Shane through his blankets, “Hey! Hey! Hey, Shane, buddy! Hey! Wake up! Wake up!”

Shane groans. Not because Ryan woke him, but because he recognizes _that_ voice. That overly hyperactive voice that suggests Ryan has evidence of a ghost or a UFO or god knows what and he doesn’t know why Ryan has it now, considering he knows the truth, but whatever. He rubs at his eyes and rolls to sit up, mumbling, “I’m up, I’m up, I’m-!”

His words stop. They die right on the tip of his tongue as he looks at Ryan. Ryan is bloody and dirty, wet splotches all over his clothes as he looks at Shane with a maniac gleam in his eyes, “We need to talk.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that this is a Shyan story and has explicit sexual content. As well as unusual sexual content - I mean, one of them IS a demon...

Shane tosses his blankets and sheets aside in his hurry to sit up. He turns to Ryan, worry etched all over him, “Oh my god! What the fuck happened to you?! Are you okay? Are you hurt? What-?”

Words seem inadequate considering how Ryan looks. He looks like he’s been through the wringer but the weird thing is, he also seems…happy. Energetic. His hands wave away Shane’s concerns even as he shakes his head, “No, no – I’m fine. Don’t worry, I just – I did it.”

He says this like Shane should automatically know what that means. He doesn’t and he’s sure his expression says as much. Ryan just runs one hand through his hair, tossing the dark strands as he offers a boyish half smile, “I-I killed a demon.”

Shane hears what Ryan said but he – he also didn’t hear that. Did he? He wonders if he’s dreaming, but no, everything feels real. He’s awake. He just…looks at Ryan and tries to come to grips with the statement his buddy just made, “Okay.”

It’s not the best response, but it’s the only one that comes. Ryan doesn’t seem offended. If anything, he bounces where he sits. Their beds are only a couple of inches apart, knees close to knocking together, more so at Ryan’s jittery movements, “And I know you said you never thought I could do it, but I did. Man, I totally did. I iced him! Or it, looked more like an it, but maybe that’s offensive? I don’t know, I hope not, but then I did straight up murk it so I guess it’s silly to worry about how the demon identified itself and-!”

“Hold on,” Shane cuts through Ryan’s rambling as one of his hands rises up, “Just…hold on a minute…”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, sure,” he replies and he sounds so…so _hyper_. He looks it too. Ryan looks like he’s inhaled an inhuman amount of caffeine or sugar or, hell, _speed_. He looks damn near high. He _is_ high. High off of…of…

The hand Shane raised runs down through his own hair, grips at his neck, squeezes it, as his eyes close and he hears himself say, “You killed a demon.”

“Yup!”

“You…?” Shane grimaces, his whole face twisting in misery as his other hand rises up to join its twin, both clutching at his neck, “Fuck! Ryan?! You!”

Apparently, talking is not currently his strong point. Lucky for him, Ryan’s more than ready to go, “Look, I was going to tell you, alright? I agreed with you. About keeping secrets. I don’t want them to pile up between us again, but I had to try. For this first one, I mean.”

“ _First one_?!” Shane explodes, eyes opening to glare at Ryan who is still too strung out to care about his anger, still lost in whatever delusional haze he’s in, “Yeah, Raziel came to me, pointed out how there are still demons left in your cabal and how the prophecy has to be finished and-!”

“Oh ho!” Shane crows loudly, “So you decided to finish it for me?! Are you OUT of your FUCKING mind!”

The taller man launches himself to his feet as some words burst out of him louder than others. He has to just-! Get away from the situation. From Ryan. Even if it’s just a few feet. He can’t bear to look at him right now. Can’t bear to think about what Ryan got up to earlier. Can’t bear to think about what might have happened and how he would never know and…

…and worse. So much worse. He can’t bear to see Ryan so psyched about committing _murder_. Although Ryan’s excitement is quickly melting away to annoyance as he grumbles, “Don’t see what the big deal is…”

“The big-?” Shane scoffs as he turns to look at him, hands on his hips, “The big deal, Ryan, is that not only did you _take_ a life, but you could have lost yours! Do you have any idea what that would have done to me? Do you have any idea how I would have felt if you had-had, I don’t know! Just-just up and disappeared?”

“Oh, I’d know _exactly_ how it’d feel,” Ryan cuts in icily, “Or have you already forgotten that you pulled that exact same shit on me?”

“I-?”

“You gave yourself up to the Void, Shane! And you knew – you fucking _knew_ – you were going to do it, because you amended the goddamn contract we signed!” As Ryan says this, Shane looks away and Ryan vaults up from his own seat, clearly seeing the point he scored, “SEE! You’ve done this shit before! Gone behind my back and did what you thought was best and now you have the audacity to stand there and chastise me, in a fucking disappointed Dad pose no less, about what _I_ choose to do?”

Shane’s hands drop from his hips because, okay, he _was_ kind of doing the Dad pose. He’ll give Ryan that. But he won’t give him this, “What I did was different, Ryan. I was…I was trying to protect you-”

An abortive, ‘and I wasn’t?’ is shouted by Ryan but Shane doesn’t pause, “-and I was the one responsible for what happened in the first place, so, yeah – I did do what I thought was best, but that was because I had the _right_ to do that. I had the right to try and fix _my_ mistake and save you and-and try to give you a better life. A _human_ one. I took it on the chin to let you-let you have a chance at-at-”

“At what? A happy ending? Fucking grow up, Shane!” Ryan hisses and he kicks out at some of the furniture in the room, making it shudder violently, causing Shane to flinch, “A human life isn’t measured by weddings and kids and dying of old age at home or some-some shit like that! It’s measured in your own goddamn choices and you keep-you keep taking those away from me!”

Shane doesn’t want to look at Ryan, doesn’t want to hear him. He wants to close his eyes and cover his ears and go back to sleep. He rubs at his arms and feels bitterly cold, eyes hot, as Ryan continues in the same nasty tone, “You don’t give a flying fuck about what I want! What I need! You think you’re the fucking center of the universe and we all just revolve around you and your actions and doesn’t that make you just like fucking God?!”

“…I’m nothing like him,” Shane whispers the words so quietly they’re almost lost. But not to Ryan, “No. See, that’s just the thing. You _are_. You’re just like him. Guess it’s true what they say. Like father, like son.”

Shane looks at Ryan through a veil of tears. He can’t make out his friend’s features, but he can sense the pure fury radiating off of him. It’s on par with how bad the earlier, maniac energy he’d projected felt. This…this isn’t _his_ Ryan. Is it? But then, it must be, because Ryan’s anger…fades. It seems to drain away as he looks at Shane, his voice cracking slightly, “N-no…hey, hey…Shane…don’t-don’t fucking cry, man.”

“M’not,” Shane sniffles as he rubs at his nose and Ryan comes closer, close enough that Shane can see his concern, “You are. Look, I’m-I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m-” He can’t seem to finish and Ryan tugs him close, hugs him hard. Shane practically collapses into it. He heaves a dry sob and breathes in Ryan’s scent. He can smell dirt and blood and the ionic scent of demon. He clutches at him and Ryan hushes him with soft ‘it’s okay’s’ and ‘it’s alright’s’.

But it’s not. Shane knows it’s not. Ryan is right. Shane fucked up. He thought he was doing the right thing, but really? He was only doing what _he_ thought was the right thing. Just like dear ol’ Dad. He never gave much thought to how Ryan would feel. Jesus. Ryan had had to watch while Shane gave himself over to the Void. He had had to essentially watch Shane _die_. How would he have reacted had the tables been turned? And now? Now, they kind of are.

Now he knows how it feels. But at least Ryan had had the decency to come to him after the horrible decision. He hadn’t just up and vanished. He’d come back. He’d told Shane the truth.

But the way Ryan acted right after the kill. The giddiness when he’d told Shane. Those things aren’t…right. Shane knows they’re not. He gets himself together, draws back from Ryan, who looks…softer. More the Ryan Bergara Shane knows than the one that first came into the room.

“Yeah, you know, I-I shouldn’t have just sprung it on you like that,” Ryan concedes, “I should’ve done a better job of telling you. Guess I was still just pumped from, y’know, not dying.”

“Two men enter, one man leaves…” Shane jokes weakly and Ryan gives him a smirk, “Like I said, don’t-don’t think Ziggy was much of a man.”

“Ziggy?”

“Zig-? Hang on,” Ryan walks over to his suitcase. He tosses through the contents and draws out a file, handing it to Shane, who opens it to give it a quick peruse, “Zig'drozok?”

“Yeah, that was the name.”

“Hmm. Doesn’t sound familiar,” Shane flips through more of the pages, “Some of us that fell went demon pretty fast. Might be he or she was one of those. When that happens, you tend to give up any trace of civility, of individuality, you become more than feral, so – calling Ziggy an ‘it’ isn’t too far off, seeing as it was something beyond animal, vegetable, or mineral…”

“See? That’s what I’m saying,” Ryan crosses his arms, looking validated, “It was a demon in every sense of the word! So, no, I don’t feel bad about what I did.”

“Which is kill it.”

“To use your guys’ phraseology, I ‘smited’ it.”

Shane closes the file and tosses it on Ryan’s bed. He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head before his hands end up back on his hips whether he likes it or not, “And you said it was Raziel who sent you on this ‘mission’?”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like-like you’re a grizzled Tom Cruise and I’m one of the newbies in IMF-” at that, Shane can’t help but quip, ‘good one’ to which Ryan replies, “Thank you, but yeah, it’s not like that.”

“You didn’t think this was a mission impossible?”

“Well, even if I did, it doesn’t matter, because I succeeded,” Ryan argues, “And I can do it again.”

“No, you can’t, because I won’t let you,” Shane returns and Ryan’s eyes go big, “Oh, you won’t let me! You controlling, egotistical son of a-! Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m your-your-!” Shane stalls, because he doesn’t know how to finish and Ryan grips to that, “My what? Boyfriend? Bondmate? Friend? Co-worker?”

The last is spat out and Shane groans under his breath, “Never gonna live that one down, am I?”

“Well, heads up, even if you are one or all of those things, you don’t own me. You don’t control me and I can do whatever the fuck I want to do! I’m a grown man, for Christ’s sake!”

“Yes,” Shane admits, “You’re a grown man, but you’re a grown _human_ man. One who has already given up half his soul for me and I don’t want you to have to give up any more. I don’t want you giving up your life.”

“Again, not your decision to make, but as it so happens – I agree and that’s why I told you. It’s like I said – I don’t want secrets between us, but I also wanted to know if I could do this all on my own and I can – I did. So, now I know that, you know that, and if he’s paying attention Raziel does too. But I’m not letting that fucker lead me around on a leash any more than I’d allow you to, so – I’m looping you in and asking for your help.”

Shane’s hands leave his hips and he just…looks at Ryan. His normally sleepy eyes wide as he repeats, “My help?”

Ryan nods, “To do this. To finish it.”

“To…? Ryan,” Shane shakes his head in disbelief. He sits back down on the end of his bed, feeling lost, “I don’t want to finish this.”

Shane looks Ryan over. He’s still covered in grime, in dried blood. The wet spots on his clothing are starting to dry, but he still looks…disheveled. Ruined. Like he’s been through a war. Like he’s been through _Hell_. It’s a sight that doesn’t sit well with Shane at all, “I don’t want to…to kill anyone else.”

“Shane…”

“I mean it!” he snaps, jaw set, “I don’t give a damn if it’s a demon in a human host or a demon in his own skin or a feral monster, I don’t-I don’t want to…”

He closes his eyes and feels…old. He feels all the years…the sheer _eons_ , he’s lived suddenly weigh down on him. The feeling is unbearable, “I’m sick of playing someone else’s game. I’m-I’m tired, Ryan. Tired of what I’m supposed to do and what I’ve done and I…”

“I don’t like it either,” Ryan returns, “I don’t like being pushed around. Dictated to. I think the prophecy is a big pile of horseshit.”

“Then why-?”

“Adamox.” The name comes out of Ryan’s lips so easily. But the sound of it throws Shane’s back up, “Where did you-?”

“Raziel showed me,” Ryan explains, “The dreams – turns out they were from him.”

A dry puff of laughter, “Of course they were.”

“But it’s good he sent them to me. Never mind the fact he almost drove me insane with them, but, mean – they showed me that fucker and you know he tried to kill you, right?”

He didn’t and Shane’s head rears back at that. Ryan nods, “Yeah, he was going to finish you off while you slept, but Raz kept that from happening and, mean, that guy is still a colossal tool bag, but I have to thank him for that. And for showing me the lengths your leader’ll go to, to keep his guys in line.”

Shane snorts, “Adamox is _not_ my leader.”

“No, but he thinks he is. Thinks he’s the kingpin of your cabal and are you going to sit there and tell me he might not come gunning for you? Seek revenge?”

Shane can’t tell Ryan that. And Ryan knows it, “So that’s why I’m doing this. I’d go for Adamox directly but I-I don’t think I’m ready for that. At least not yet. I looked through all the files of all the demons left and started with Ziggy because he seemed the easiest. Elusive, maybe, but feral and-and I don’t know, someone I could handle, maybe?  A real demon’s demon.”

“Certainly easier to justify,” Shane murmurs and Ryan looks like he wants to dispute that, but instead he just lets out a hefty breath, “You…you might be right.”

Considering this is the first time in a while Ryan’s giving him that, Shane smirks. Ryan mirrors the reaction, “It happens. It’s rare, but…”

“Say I’m right again. That always puts a little zip up my spine.”

“Stop it,” Ryan laughs before continuing, “But seriously, after I-I took care of Ziggy I felt…great. Fantastic. It was-it was thrilling and I-I realized that’s probably _not_ how I should feel.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“Which, again, is why I’m telling you about this. I don’t think I should stop but-but I _do_ think I should have someone, ah, I don’t know. Monitor me, I guess? Make-make sure I don’t go too far?”

“You want a spotter while you commit murder?” Shane replies wryly, eyebrows raised, and Ryan lets out another weary sigh, “It’s not murder,” then, reluctantly, “Not exactly.”

“Why? Because they’re demons?” Shane asks, voice dropping low, “Again, validation, little guy. Excuses. Where do you draw the line? Where do you stop? You just said you don’t want me to control you and yet you want me to be in charge of you going out and-and assassinating demons? You want _me_ to draw the line for you? Why? Because I have so much experience? Because I’ve killed so many?”

“No, no. Hey,” Ryan walks closer to him and it’s as if he’s acting like Shane’s a wary animal, one that will bolt if Ryan’s not slow enough, careful enough, “It’s not that. It’s just…we’re a package deal. Remember?”

Shane looks at him and Ryan is nearer now, “Whether we like it or not, this ball is rolling and there’s no stopping it until it reaches the end. I just…I want to make sure the ball goes down the right path, that it goes in the right direction. I want to make sure we don’t get crushed beneath it.”

“And if it crushes others?”

Ryan just shakes his head and Shane feels defeated. Trapped, “Ryan…it’s a slippery slope…”

His lips twitch, “Heard the one before…”

“Probably because it’s true,” is Shane’s quiet response, “You want to kill demons. Have you…have you forgotten what I am? What if you-if you decide to kill m-?”

“No,” Ryan stops Shane before he can go on and there’s that light in his eyes again, the dark one, “I would never do that. Never. Not to you. You’re my demon. Mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone shouldn’t be so…appealing.  Shane should object. Ryan’s objected when Shane’s made similar claims. But the ability to talk seems to have abandoned him and he’s still sitting on the edge of his bed as Ryan moves effortlessly towards him, all sleek and graceful like a predator hunting prey, so very smooth as he puts one knee and then the other on either side of Shane’s hips.

Without even being asked, Shane finds himself leaning back, making room, finds himself letting Ryan straddle him even as Ryan asks in a husky plea, “Shane…Shane, please, please, I know we said we’d take it slow. But please, can I-can I touch you?”

Ryan’s hands hover over Shane, but don’t touch, even as his face angles towards him, lips inches from his brow. Shane swallows thickly, eyelashes fluttering like hummingbird wings as Ryan lowers himself. He’s fully seated on Shane now; their forehead’s touching and Ryan’s lips are inches from his. He’s so close that his next words, the breath of them, brushes at his skin, “Can I touch you? Please, can I-? Can I kiss you?”

“Okay,” Shane barely gets this out before it’s lost in Ryan’s mouth. Ryan’s lips crash down on his, hot and hungry, purposeful. It’s as if he wants to swallow any possible argument Shane could make. But Shane has no more arguments. He wants this. He missed this. This isn’t like when Ryan kissed him when he first got back. That had been awkward. Uncomfortable. This? This kiss?

This is a true homecoming. Passionate and intense and even more perfect when Ryan’s fingers tangle in his hair, when they tug on brown strands, draw him up straighter, firmer, into his grip. Shane hears himself whimper, doesn’t give a shit. Fuck, Ryan is _good_ at this. He kisses Shane masterfully, tongue searching out his taste and it’s all Shane can do to keep up.

Ryan’s moving over him, controlling him, he breaks their kiss to trail his teeth along his scruffy jaw, the right side of his neck. Shane hisses at the feel of it, the blunt drag of Ryan’s teeth and then the sweet, sharp suction as he latches there and Jesus, is Bergara giving him a hickey? How old are they? But it feels fantastic, it feels _right_.

Shane finds he wants it. Wants that mark, that brand of ownership, visible and dark on his skin. He does his best to push into it, arching his neck to make it more open, easier. Ryan takes it. He damn near feasts, locked on that spot, not letting go and just as Shane begins to wonder if he’s trying to break skin, he draws back, licks at the freshly made hickey, blows on it.

His entire nervous system shivers, ripples with arousal, more so when Ryan rasps against it, “Let me see you…”

“You _are_ seeing me.”

“No,” Ryan moans against his neck and he…he _rocks_ against him. He grinds and fuck, he’s so fucking _hard_. Shane can feel it now. The prominent bulge beneath the denim brushing against his stomach and the little guy is wrapped all around him, arms and legs and center mass as he moans again, “No, the _real_ you. Let me see the _real_ you.”

“I…”

Ryan’s forehead kisses his again, their eyes locked, “C’mon, baby…”

A thick swallow, a whole-body tremble, and Shane’s eyelids drop closed. When they rise again, they reveal pitch black eyes. Ryan gasps an eager ‘Yes!’ and then he’s kissing Shane again, rocking against him while he does it, and what is it with them and dry humping?

Not that Shane really gives a flying fuck, his hands gripping Ryan’s ass as he surges his own hips upwards because he’s just as turned on. More so now that he’s closer to his true form. His black eyes keep opening, keep taking all of Ryan in, because it’s a ridiculously gorgeous sight.

Even beat up, bloody, dirty – Ryan Bergara is a sight behold. Even half souled…he’s so goddamn _bright_. Looking at him…it _burns_. It _hurts_. Glorious and all-encompassing like the center of the sun, like it’s glowing heart, and Shane can’t ask for more.

But apparently Ryan can, his fingers plucking at the collar of Shane’s white shirt, “Take this off.”

“Ryan…”

“Your clothes,” Ryan begs in the most perfect, hot pant, “Take them off…”

“Ryan…baby…slow…slow…”

A keening whine leaves him as Ryan shakes his head, “No. No. Not…not going to do anything…”

“Ryan…” Shane says his name with dry disbelief but Ryan’s still shaking his head, the movement making it so that his forehead rubs along Shane’s as if to emphasis the action, “Promise. No-no sex. Just…I want to touch you, need to touch you. Please…”

“Ryan…” Shane tries again and he knows he’s said the guy’s name at least three times, but Ryan isn’t deterred, his expression desperate, pleading, “Let me touch you. Shane. Let me see you. The real you. Please, please…”

“Fuck,” Shane sighs and the urge to argue is strong. He wants to point out how he can’t imagine any scenario where Ryan asking him to get naked _won’t_ lead to some kind of sex, but instead he finds himself nodding, finds himself gently pushing Ryan off. Ryan clambers off eagerly, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as Shane tugs his shirt up over his head, as he draws off his pajama bottoms and underwear and he turns swiftly, turns to hide his semi-erection even as he exposes his bare ass to Ryan.

He turns, completely naked now, facing the bed, the wall and with an unsteady exhale, he allows everything to emerge – wings, horns, tail, claws. They all appear and he looks over his right shoulder, eyes still all black.

Shane’s never felt this way. It’s as if someone’s drawn away a curtain that’s been hanging over him his entire life. He’s completely revealed – an open, raw nerve brought into the light and Ryan looks…thunderstruck. His dark hair is sticking up all around his head at bizarre angels (Shane did that, his _hands_ did that) and his mouth is slightly agape, eyes wide and looking at him with utter reverence as he whispers, “How…?”

He doesn’t continue, so Shane waits. Waits for him to say more, waits for him to say something, do something, just…waits. Finally he gets, “…hot. How can a demon be so-so hot?”

“Hellfire, baby,” Shane snarks and Ryan’s instant response is to laugh, “Shut up, Shane. No,” he shakes his head, looks unhappy, as he tries again, “I-? I mean, you’re-? You’re _more_ than that. More than just _hot_ , you’re-?”

Ryan’s clearly struggling with how to continue but when he finally does, Shane’s heart twists hard in his chest, “Beautiful. That’s what you are…”

And when Ryan _keeps_ talking, it’s as if he’s talking more to himself than Shane, “How is that possible? How can a demon be beautiful?”

Shane’s first instinct is to deflect with humor. To reply with another smart-ass remark. A couple even come to mind, hang right on the tip of his tongue. But they don’t come out. Instead, he just feels his whole face heat, his Adam’s apple bob, because in this moment he’s vulnerable.

He finds, more than anything, that he wants to _deny_ it. Shane looks away, calls himself an idiot in his mind over and over, because he feels like an idiotic, blushing wallflower. It’s not a feeling he’s comfortable with. It’s not one he’s used to. But…he also feels… _good_. Whole. No, no – better – he _feels_ beautiful.

He feels exactly what Ryan called him and, until this moment, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this way before. Not really. But in this moment, he truly and utterly believes he’s the very definition of the word. He’s _beautiful_. Beautiful and naked and red all over and not just from his crimson tainted horns and claws. His entire body is flushed, bashful, and he can’t meet Ryan’s eyes. He chews the inside of one cheek and man, when he really let loose – he let loose.

His tongue is forked, teeth fangs, and Christ – beautiful? Really? Doubt begins to rear its ugly head. More so as he rubs at one ear and, oh yeah, his ears. They changed. All-all stupidly elfish now. He tugs on one of the pointed ends, thoughts bordering on several self-depreciating remarks he’s moments from sharing with his friend when Ryan hoarsely says, “Lie down.”

Shane’s all black eyes snap to his face and Ryan looks…intense. Dangerous. He looks like his control is on a threadbare leash. But his control over what, Shane doesn’t know. He can’t say what he looks like, but it must be something less than encouraging, because Ryan’s voice takes on a lighter lilt, “I promise I won’t hurt you. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. Just…lie down on your stomach. Please, Shane?”

The last is asked with such an innocent air. As if Shane isn’t naked. As if Ryan isn’t fully clothed. As if there isn’t a thick blanket of tension between them right now. Tension composed of an oddball cocktail – passion, anger, trust, suspicion, desire – Christ almighty, above _all_ things, _desire_. Desire, which prompts Shane to do as Ryan asks. He turns his head to his right, arms wrapping around one of the pillows to sort of prop himself up.

It’s a conscious effort on his part not to rent the sheets, the mattress, with his claws. He does his best to keep them as curled in as possible. The same goes for his wings. He draws them as close as he can to his back. Tries not to let them expand too far, worried he might knock over the bedside table and lamp. His tail, being its usual irreverent self, flicks about with a sense of agitation. It zips from side to side, flicks idly at the bare backs of his knees, his legs.

Shane does his best to control his breathing, to calm himself, but it’s hard. He has no idea what the hell Ryan is up to and he’s still half hard and really this is almost too much. He keeps his eyes averted to one side, focuses on the soft glow of the bedside lamp, the red digital numbers on the clock. He zeroes in on these things to try and hold on to his sanity as he feels the bed dip beneath Ryan’s weight.

While the mattress is big enough that two people could sleep on it comfortably (albeit close together) to Shane it currently feels like it has all the circumference of a postage stamp. And this time, it isn’t because of his height and the length of his limbs. It’s because Ryan is close. Shane can feel how close he is, as he oh, so cautiously creeps up towards Shane.

It’s not hard for him to stay rigidly in place. His whole body feels taunt, stretched thin and the clock, the clock – focus on the clock. The shape of the ‘three’ and shit, it’s after three a.m. The Witching Hour. Of-fucking-course it is and then he can just barely make out Ryan at the very corner of his eyes. Mainly because his eyes dart down there, catching a glimpse of him as he whispers, “Your wings…let me touch them. Please.”

It’s not a question so much as an outright _beg_. The sound of it makes Shane’s dick twitch and he just hums, nods. But that’s not enough and when Ryan speaks next, it’s gruff, “Say yes.”

Again, not a question, but Shane knows if he says ‘no’, Ryan won’t do it. Ryan is...different right now. On this tightrope between the man Shane knows – the awkward, warm-hearted goofy one and this new one – the dark, unpredictable one, but at his core, his values, his principles won’t waiver. All Shane has to do is say ‘no’ and Ryan will draw back. But really, there’s only one thing he can say as he thickly returns, “Yes.”

The bed lets out a creak as Ryan turns and runs one hand along the back of Shane’s head. This isn’t what Ryan asked for, but Shane doesn’t mind. He finds he enjoys the feeling – Ryan’s fingers carding through his hair to play along his scalp, although he can’t help but quip, “M’not a dog, you know…”

“Shut up,” is Ryan’s go to and he uses it even as he rubs his thumb along one of Shane’s horns. It starts right at the base and then pushes up. It glides up and down, up and down. Then it moves to the other horn, gives it the same attention and Ryan’s voice shakes, “What does this feel like?”

“Mmm, good.”

“No, I, hah! I know that, but, um, what-what does it-?” the question comes from the Ryan Shane knows best, so it’s easier to answer, “It’s like if you ran your thumb over one of my fingernails. I feel it and it feels nice, but it’s-it’s not-”

“Yeah, okay,” Ryan interrupts and then his hand trails down the back of Shane’s neck. It pauses briefly to squeeze right where Shane’s neck meets his shoulders and fuck, that-? That shouldn’t be a thing. But it kind of is? It feels that fucking nice, but then the hand just moves on. It continues its trek, brushing between his shoulder blades, causing a random shiver to go through him before finally glancing over one wing.

It’s his right wing and the last time Ryan did this, he touched the left. Shane’s lips twitch at the memory, at that first time Ryan touched his wings. It had felt so fucking good and this time is no different. Or, he supposes, it’s better, because now Ryan is taking his time. He starts right at the base, right where the thick bone slots into his back. He strokes the very tips of his fingers up along the curve there, careful to avoid any potentially sharp bits, although those mostly faded when the Void essence was taken from him.

Shane’s wings are quite similar to a bat’s – with a forearm, second digit, third – the membrane thin and, while not exactly delicate, undoubtedly sensitive. Apparently more so when it’s being caressed by Ryan and Shane stifles a groan of pleasure as Ryan’s hand starts playing along the soft outer width.

It’s a trial not to extend his wings to their full length, to not allow Ryan to run his palm all over every goddamn inch. Sweat beads on Shane’s forehead from the effort and what had started as a semi-erection has grown into a full blown one.

Which is ridiculous. His wings aren’t even an erogenous zone. Or, apparently, they weren’t until Ryan decided he wanted to touch them. And then he hears Ryan talking to himself, muttering under his breath and at first it’s meaningless, empty, random mumbles until he catches ‘wait, let me just’ and then Ryan’s moving, gingerly scaling over Shane’s back and spreading his knees on either side of his waist and okay, now is _definitely_ the time for a joke, because there’s no way in hell he’s going to let Ryan sit down on his waist and ride on his back like he’s a horse or something.

He opens his mouth to say just that, to remark how he’s not a horse any more than he’s a dog when Ryan’s hands just – settle on both wings simultaneously. Any words Shane planned end in a half-strangled grunt and Ryan rises up some, clearly worried it was his weight that caused the sound, “You okay?”

Shane just manages a soothing sound to dismiss Ryan’s worries because holy shit – one hand on each wing. That-that feels fucking _marvelous_. More so when Ryan’s brushing at both, massaging each and it’s a damn good rub down and yes, okay, apparently his wings _are_ an erogenous zone. His hips reflexively twist, push down and Ryan must see (or maybe even feel) the movement because his voice becomes throatier, “Shit! You-you _do_ like this, don’t you?”

“Mmm, aahhh!” is the only embarrassing answer Shane can give.

“Don’t worry. I like it too,” Ryan settles in and, despite being fully clothed, Shane can feel the weight of Ryan’s dick against his spine, “See?”

Another moan works its way out of Shane and earlier he had thought about how he didn’t want Ryan to ride him and yes, he doesn’t want to be ridden like a pack animal, but if Ryan wants to ride him in _another_ way, he’s all in. The imagery spirals through his mind and he nibbles on his bottom lip, hips working again, trying to alleviate some of the pressure building in his balls.

Fuck, Ryan needs to do more and he needs to do it quickly. Shane’s heartbeat is thunder in his ears and it’s becoming increasingly difficult not to move, not to throw Ryan off and just – hurry this up and Ryan said no sex, but he was obviously full of shit and it’s clear what they’re here to do and-!

But then Ryan’s bending over his back, cuddling up to Shane, his chest pressed near his shoulder blades as he gets close to one ear to whisper, “Forgot about these.”

“Forgot about-?” Shane starts but then Ryan’s tongue licks out at the tip of one of his pointed ears and that’s when Shane groans brokenly, “Oh! Jesus! _Ryan_ , please…”

The little bastard’s response is to suck the tip of his ear right into his mouth and Shane lets out a heartfelt sob. He hated his ears when he’d first seen their change but now? Now he adores it, because it seems hardwired right to his dick. The silky tip of Ryan’s tongue explores the full shape of Shane’s ear, it traces each dip and crevasse and then his teeth take a turn, teasing and biting and sounds of ecstasy tumble from Shane’s lips unbidden.

It feels so goddamn good. Is he going to cum from this alone? He honest to god feels like he can. That’s how erotic it is and then it only builds as Ryan draws back to sits up and turn. He turns completely, facing Shane’s ass now and Shane feels like he’s choking, throat working double time as one of Ryan’s hot hands curls around the very base of his tail.

Shane thought he was rigid before. Now? Now he’s stiff as a board, body tensed up tight as Ryan’s hand works up. It fucking _pumps_ his tail like it’s his dick and Shane’s hips twist down into the mattress roughly, a steady wet spot growing beneath him from precome because _oh god, yes, yes, fuck, please, yes_! Again, another body part that isn’t normally an erogenous zone is sending signals directly to his cock.

More so when Ryan somehow manages to snag the end, the spade-shaped tip, and fucking _licks_ it. He draws it into his mouth and sucks and Shane throws all self-preservation to the wind. He grinds down onto the bed, thrusts against it, and wishes it was Ryan’s willing body beneath his as he openly cries out. Loud pops ring out and Shane realizes his claws have sunk into the mattress.

He’s punctured the fucking bed with his fingers, because what Ryan’s doing is amping his arousal up to another level and he _is_ going to cum from this. He is and he’s already so close and then – tortuous, monstrous, _evil_ little fuck that he is –  Ryan _pulls away_.

He releases Shane’s tail and gets off him, gets off the bed, and Shane is furious. He sees red and wonders if it doesn’t reflect in his eyes as he opens them, glares at his former bondmate, “What the-?! You goddamn tease!”

Ryan is all bright white smiles, that maniac gleam back, “Aw, poor baby. You think we’re done?”

The relief that floods Shane is palpable. As is the fissure of pure excitement and he looks at him with what he’s sure is the most hopeful expression a demon has ever made. Ryan just purrs, “Roll over.”

Shane does. He moves swiftly over onto his back and he’d be embarrassed at how much his rather massive erection bobs in front of him if he wasn’t so desperate. It’s almost as red as his other extremities. Full and proud and the first time Ryan saw it, he’d been a bit overwhelmed at its size. Time hasn’t seemed to change that much, Ryan’s look one of startled awe, as if he’s suddenly remembered the length and girth of it.

It’s curled up near Shane’s belly button, thick and full, with a prominent vein beneath the plush head. A head glossy with precome and now the wet spot is beneath Shane. but he doesn’t care about that or anything else other than getting off, which he assumes Ryan is planning on helping him with.

“Man, calling you ‘big guy’ has never been an understatement, has it?”

“Flatterer,” Shane manages and while he’s withdrawn his claws from the bed, he’s cognizant of the holes he left behind. Dammit. He destroyed the Inn’s property. Or rather, Ryan did, because Ryan’s responsible for all of this and he jerks about the bed until he’s comfortable, wings and tail still out but never easy to manage when he’s on his back like this.

Ryan (sick son of a bitch) seems amused by this, grinning and giggling at Shane’s struggles and Shane just growls, “You gonna just stand there or-?”

“Maybe,” Ryan murmurs and then – then! – he sits on the opposite bed and no, no, he’s too far away. And Shane’s glaring at him again but Ryan looks utterly gleeful, “Or maybe I just want to watch.”

“Want to-?”

“I promised no sex,” Ryan murmurs, “And I asked to touch you. Kiss you. I did. But now,” he gestures to Shane’s erection, “It seems you have a problem…”

“Ryan…” he breathes. It’s a trembling question. It’s a shaking prayer. It’s a quivering benediction.

“Can you touch yourself?” God, who knew Ryan’s voice could get so gravelly, “Can you bring yourself off with your claws?”

“K-kinky fucker…” Shane’s proud he succeeds at saying this as opposed to just outright _moaning_.

“Can you?” Ryan eases up from the bed, comes close to Shane’s face, mouth hovering near one of his ears, lips eventually caressing it as he entreats, “Can you do that for me, baby?”

Shane manages a wobbly nod. He lowers his dominate hand and his fingers _do_ change some. He can’t outright grab a sensitive body part with his claws at their full capacity. The underside and top both equally razor sharp. But with the right fluctuation, they become more finger like, only the nails with some bite.

He changes to this and wraps a hand around himself and a dog-like whine escapes because oh shit, it is not going to take much. Shane’s too damned worked up for it to take long and his thumb circles the mushroom-shaped head. It collects the wet there and spreads it. He hisses, back arching, free hand returning to the bed to grip it tightly, puncturing it again because it’s still fully clawed. Shane starts working up a rhythm, starts building up friction, but Ryan pulls away from him, coos in concern, “No. no – shouldn’t do that dry, sweetheart. Here…”

Shane slows his movements and wonders what the fuck Ryan has planned when he hears some distinct clicks, like metal buttons giving way. He manages to just make out Ryan opening some satchel he has on his leg and then the clever little idiot has a small bottle in one hand. He upends it on Shane’s dick and slick lube pours out, coats him, and he has no idea how or why Ryan had that on him, but frankly he’s just…thankful.

The liquid is a cool. perfect blessing, easing his movements and _fucckkkkk_ ….

Now he’s cooking with gas. His cock is soaked, lube working its way through his coarse pubic hair, along his balls and when he next moves his clawed hand it’s utter bliss. Shane’s body quakes, his working arm shuddering as he starts furiously working his entire length. His breath comes out in short, desperate grunts as he generously fucks the slippery cradle of his hand.

Ryan’s drawn back again and is watching him with greedy eyes, “Is this what it looked like? Huh? When you-when you had your quickening?”

Shane turns his head into the pillow, eyes closed tight, face twisted with a pleasure that borders on agony. All he can think about is how close he is. He’s so close, _he’s so close, he’s so_ -!

“I wish I could’ve seen it. And I promised myself I’d see your face next time…”

The bed is shaking now, his hand a blur, his back arched.

“…that next time, I’d watch you cum…”

“ _Ryan_!”

“Cum for me, Shane.”

Shane’s never thought of himself as particularly responsive. He’s never thought of himself as the kind that can be ordered. But he’s wrong on both counts as he lets out a sharp, ecstatic wail and cums on Ryan’s command. His dick spurts enthusiastically, striping his belly, _his chest_ , with long, sticky ropes of his release. And it doesn’t seem to _stop_. Shane just keeps rolling his hips up into it, just keeps milking himself and then the weirdest, most supernatural thing happens, because why not?

It’s not like he can have a _normal_ sex life. At least not a normal one like this, because he just – dissolves. He breaks apart into his shadow form and it zips right into Ryan. It happens so swiftly neither of them has a chance to react to it, remark on it. One moment Shane is himself and the next he’s a shadow moving into Ryan, _possessing_ Ryan.

But Ryan is still there, still cognizant. They’re fully immersed in one another. They’re _one_ , joined on a deep, elemental level and neither of them has time to even grasp it before they’re stripping Ryan’s pants off and gripping his erection.

They work together – thoughts and feelings and experiences overlapping as they both stroke Ryan. They stroke and stroke and Ryan, Shane (both?) cry out as Ryan orgasms. Ryan falls back on his bed, practically convulsing with sheer delight and then Shane’s right next to him. Shane’s _out_ of him.

Shane’s solid and whole and lying right next to him on the bed and they both just…try to catch their breath. They’re panting and wild eyed and looking at the ceiling. Neither of them says a word. At first, But when they do, they both speak at once. Shane goes for an aborted ‘what the fu-?’ and Ryan just busts into a wild cascade of giggles.

Giggles that set Shane off and then they’re both just – laughing. They laugh and laugh until tears form and when they both manage to calm down, Ryan is the first to say anything truly coherent, “Did you just fucking _possess_ me?”

“I-? I think so?”

“You’ve never done that before?” Ryan asks cautiously and Shane shakes his head because, no – he’s never done that. Hell, he didn’t even think he _could_ do that. Possessing someone takes work – it takes time. But he just slipped inside Ryan’s body like it was nothing. And more – Ryan _let_ him in. Ryan let Shane possess him. Let them join into one.

It was like their emotional bond, but on a whole other level and he expects Ryan to remark on it more, freak out about it, but instead the guy just smirks, “You possessed me…so, what? You could get me off?”

“I-I did play with your dick while inside you. Yes,” Shane returns it so easily, as if it’s a normal, everyday thing and that sets them both off into hysterical laughter again. When it eventually dies down, Shane realizes that – while he’s still naked – he’s in his human form. His wings, tail, horn – they’re back inside him once more. He rolls to sit up and looks down at Ryan, who’s half naked and still unbelievably dirty from his earlier activities.

He sees a dark bruise on Ryan’s forehead and brushes at it. Ryan winces, but doesn’t draw away, merely murmuring, “Fell. Hit my head.”

Shane lets out a deep sigh and finds his levity, his euphoria, dropping away, “You were hurt.”

“Only a little.”

“Huh, yeah,” is Shane’s bitter reply and dammit, he doesn’t want to go back to their earlier dispute. He doesn’t want reality to return. He’d much rather stay in this nice, warm, intimate bubble they just created for themselves. Ryan sits up and looks at him earnestly, “If we did this together…”

Shane’s eyes close, but Ryan isn’t discouraged, isn’t stopped, “…we could watch each other’s backs.”

All that comes is an exhale. A heavy one. A sad one. Well, it’s not as if sex fixes everything. Ryan cups Shane’s face in his hands, “Hey, come on…look at me.”

He does. His eyes are no longer black, but Ryan doesn’t seem disappointed, “Like I said, I-I could do all the work. You’d just…just make sure I don’t go too far…”

Shane shakes his head, looks away. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to agree to this. He just wants to pretend like none of it happened. Well, none of it save the things he liked. God, Ryan right – he really does need to fucking grow up. He knows better. He does. He’s lived a long ass time and he knows how these things tend to go.

This situation isn’t anything new. Honestly? It’s a tale as old as time – revenge, death, retribution – a classic song and dance.

He scratches at the back of his head and gets to his feet, offering Ryan one hand, “Let’s go get cleaned up.”

Ryan looks at the hand, looks at Shane. Shane curses, “Look, just-just give me tonight, will ya? Give me tonight and…and tomorrow we can-can discuss it some more.”

“…that’s,” Ryan looks at his hand, “That’s not a ‘no’.”

Shane draws in a loud breath, “No. It’s not.”

Ryan takes his hand.


	11. Chapter 11

“Oh ho ho, I know _that_ face,” Sara replies with a knowing smile as she crosses paths with Shane in one of the Buzzfeed break rooms, “Someone got lucky.”

Shane refuses to dignify it with a response, more focused on pouring himself a cup of coffee. Sara’s having too much fun though, and as she draws a bag of carrot sticks out of the fridge, she takes one in hand, using it like a pointer, jabbing it in his direction, “Glad to see you two finally worke- _wait_! Is that-!”

She marches over to him, setting her bag of carrots down on a nearby counter and – despite his protests - takes his coffee cup directly from his hands to sit down as well. She takes a good grip of his chin with her free hand and turns his head to one side, barring the right side of his neck to the light. The collar of his floral button up doesn’t do enough to hide the dark, purplish mark Ryan left and she hoots, “Wouldja look at that!”

Shane shrugs out of her grip and rubs self-consciously at the mark, “Stop it.”

“Stop what? Admiring your HICKEY!” Sara announces the last loudly, looking wildly about for witnesses. Sadly there are none and her face scrunches up in disappointment. He snatches up his coffee and takes a sip, eyebrows raised. She grabs her carrot back, pointing it at him threateningly, “You win this round, Madej. But next time, the day will be mine!”

She raises the carrot aloft like it’s Excalibur. He just shakes his head with a sad sigh, “You’re too goddamn adorable. It’s insufferable.”

“Says the guy with the flowers,” she pokes the tip of her carrot into the heart of one of the floral patterns before drawing it back to twist about on her feet, “Besides, you love it.”

He can’t deny it, so he doesn’t.

“Seriously though, glad you and Boogara worked it out.”

This gets a grimace, “Not quite.”

Her lips screw up to one side and she taps the carrot against her face, “I want to ask, but wonder if it’s too weird/awkward…”

“You work at Buzzfeed now – we produce awkward here.”

“Point - speaking of! _I’m_ about to make my first video,” Sara sounds insanely proud and he can’t help but be happy for her. They haven’t had much chance to talk since she started here, but it’s clear she’s enjoying herself. He has a pretty damn good idea how she got her foot in the door and he can’t begrudge her for it.

How can he? His story isn’t all that different. And he gets it. Their world…it has its bright spots, but there’s something to be said for having a purpose, a permeance, in the mortal world. Yes, humans are notoriously short sighted and forgetful, but they can also be surprisingly impactful. He knows that more than anyone and his thoughts shift back to Ryan just as Sara points to her hair, “Going to get this blown out.”

“Blown-? Like…bald?”

“…I hope you’re joking,” she eyes him and he eyes her back, “You tell me.”

They share this stalemate for a while until, finally, Shane cracks, “Might look good.”

Sara grins, “It might.”

“Talk about weird though. I know you by the curls,” he lightly tugs one, “You’ll be unrecognizable.”

Her expression is openly baffled, “We lived together for _decades_!”

“Yeah, but the hair, man – that’s the centerpiece…”

She rolls her eyes, huffing an affectionate ‘god’, before shrugging, “So then. Go on. Talk.”

“About?”

“The current political climate in Guatemala,” is her immediate sarcastic response before adding, “ _Ryan_ , dorkus.”

Shane looks around the break area. They are still very much alone. He then contemplates his coffee and he’s sure Sara’s starting to think he’s not going to answer when he mutters, “He’s…different.”

“Yeah?”

A nod, “Being half souled and all…”

“ _Shit_ ,” she hisses the curse with feeling, “Shoulda known. Can blame me for that one.”

“Blame-?” he starts and then stops, eyes widening. It’s a glass shattering moment, a lightbulb above his head as realization dawns, “It was your idea!”

It’s not a question, nor an accusation, just a stated fact. He sips his coffee ruefully, “Of course. I should’ve known! No way Ryan got that idea on his own and the physician  _clearly_  wasn’t a fan of it and your  _parents_. Forgot all about them,” he takes another big sip before asking, “How are they?”

“They’re alright. They’re parent-y,” her tone has become a little tremulous, “Look, about the fracturing…that was my dumbass idea. Y’know, it just-it tumbled out of my mouth and I should’ve just kept my trap shut and thought more about it before-!”

“No, no, hey,” he waves off her concerns, “I’m not mad at you, Sara. I don’t blame you. You might’ve suggested it, but  _Ryan’s_  the moron who went through with it.”

“Moron?” she repeats and looks a little offended, “Um, okay. You-you know he’s like, crazy about you. Right?”

Shane looks directly at her, coffee cup slowly lowering, as she shoots him a hot look, “I mean, I get it. I know  _exactly_  how he feels. Had I been in his shoes, if it’d happened back when we were…” her words stop as she runs a hand through her curls, tossing them, “Not that I  _could’ve_  done it. Being born half souled myself…”

“Sara…” his tone starts placatingly but her back is clearly up and she just glares at him, “My point is – the guy’s not a moron for-for loving you. For wanting you back.”

Shane doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. He and Ryan have had yet to talk about the big ‘L’ word. He honestly isn’t even sure they ever will. But Sara is undaunted, “You didn’t see yourself then. When you were all,” she circles a hand in front of him, “voided up. I mean, I know you were at least a  _little_  conscious for it but – not-not like you’d normally be.”

His eyes can’t seem to stay focused on her, discomfort building inside him, making him look away as she keeps talking, “Your face…it had no expression. It was…” he can hear her swallow loudly, reflexively, “…blank. It...it was like you weren’t there. It was like you were…gone.”

Sara sniffs, “Gone. But right in front of us. Alive, but not. You...you didn’t _know_ us. Recognizing us. It was like-like we were strangers.”

Shane makes himself look at her and she looks so goddamn wretched he can’t help but say her name hoarsely. He reaches for her but she side steps it. She shakes her head and goes to one of the cabinets, opens it to look inside as she adds over one shoulder, “Sooooo….yeah. Just-just watch it. Calling him a ‘moron’.”

He gets the message. And then some, “You’re not a moron, Sara. Neither is he. Sorry.”

She brushes it off, eyes still on the contents of the cabinet, “You better be.”

The cabinet has a variety of different things inside and, apparently, Sara’s spotted something she wants, because she starts straining to reach it. Shane takes a few minutes to watch the humorous fallout. She moves to the very tips of her toes, slim fingers wriggling as if this will make them grow long enough to fish out whatever it is she’s reaching for.

Shane knows he should be a gentleman and offer to get it for her but watching her struggles…it’s too cute. He sips his coffee, eyes dancing with extra mirth when she actually _hops_. She hops upwards but this effort is just as fruitless as the others and she begins looking around her, clearly thinking of finding something to stand on when he remarks dryly, “Need a hand?”

“Actually, you should give me a fiver – that performance wasn’t free, pal,” she arches an eyebrow at him and he gives her a devilish grin, “How’s about I grab what you want and we’ll call it even?”

“The Nutella,” she points to a very high shelf, “Right there.”

He easily snags it and she mutters ‘giraffe’ under her breath. He lets her have it – both the Nutella and the comment. She unscrews the top gleefully and plunges one of her carrot sticks into it. Shane regards the action with a sigh, “Y’know that’s not normal, right?”

Sara just looks at him, “Hey, I’ve been playing around in their world a lot longer than you have. You spent most of it asleep, remember?” she swirls the carrot around in the hazelnut spread, getting it nicely lathered, “I’m a hell of a lot better playing the human than you are.”

He waves to her eating habits, “And yet…”

“No one’s gonna say a word,” she promises as she draws out her chocolate covered veggie and takes a bite, “Besides, I _deserve_ this.”

Shane just shakes his head to himself when she lightly hip checks him, “Ryan? Different?”

“Well, he killed a demon.”

One end of Sara’s carrot snaps off, stuck in the jar’s thick contents. It neatly compliments the look on her face, “Seriously?”

He nods, drinks, “Apparently he’s decided to become a hunter.”

Her mouth flaps ineffectually for a while before an actual word leaves her, “Why?”

“Oh, apparently he feels the need to finish the prophecy. Thinks he’s protecting me in some way,” Each word Shane says drips with condemnation and Sara absorbs that even as she fishes her broken carrot out of the jar, “That explains your love bite.”

His face asks a question and she answers it while finishing out the bit of carrot, “I jockeyed around plenty of hunters in my day. They tend to get a little…amorous after a hunt.”

“Do they?” He asks and his coffee cup crunches in his fist, its contents spurting out. Sara watches the action with a laugh, “Aw! You still do that! Well, ain’t that sweet…”

Shane tosses the ruined cup in a nearby trashcan even as Sara continues talking, “But I don’t need your protection, Galahad. I can take care of myself, thank you very much. Actually, almost all the hunters I jockeyed for were very respectful. It was just, y’know, after a hunt they clearly looked forward to getting home to their respectives. It was just…kinda obvious what they were in the mood for.”

“So, you’re saying Ryan’s going to be DTF every time he murks a guy?”

“Ask the hickey you’re sporting,” Sara returns sweetly and, at its mention, he rubs the spot again. She merely shrugs, “Not all that different from quickenings, TBH.”

“D-don’t say it like _that_.”

“Like what?”

“Like…shortened. Just-just say ‘to be honest’.”

“This from the guy who didn’t want to say ‘down to fu-’,” he waves the word away and she laughs, “Oh god, when did you become such a _prude_!”

“I’m not a prude,” Shane returns waspishly, “I’m just…” he lets out a frustrated grunt before continuing, “I’m different too.”

Sara breathes in deep, setting aside her carrots and chocolate, “Yeah. Was afraid of that.”

She links her fingers behind her neck, leaning back into her hands, “We were in such a hurry to save you we didn’t-didn’t really get into all the ins and outs of soul fracturing. I mean, my parents were already bonded, so – the connection, it sort of tempered everything out. But being unbonded and _then_ sharing a soul…I mean, it’s bound to have some effects.”

“Like?”

She releases her neck, shrugs again, “I was born with half a soul and I’m half demon so, those things complement one another. Being human and half souled? It’s a bad combo. Being a demon and half souled? Also a bad combo. You two are probably swapping attributes left and right and without a bond to-to stabilize it…”

Her lips compress into a thin line, “I don’t know, I mean – I’m probably just talking out of my ass here. It’s not like I’m a physicia-”

“Qyrora is,” Shane cuts her off, “She recommended we bond too.”

“I wasn’t recommending-?”

“Weren’t you?” he counters and she picks back up her carrot and Nutella. She eats some more and he makes himself a fresh cup of coffee. Eventually she speaks again, tone low, “Would it be so bad?”

He just looks at her and she resolutely does not look at him, “Bonding him?”

“I bonded him before and yes, it would be bad. It was bad then, it’d be bad-”

“You don’t know that,” she argues, “I know the whole story. And that bond was bad, yeah, but that’s because it was one sided and before you start, I get why. I really do. But this time – this time you could both go into it open minded.”

“Open minded,” Shane huffs, “Yeah, right. Don’t-don’t think half souled Ryan has much of an open mind. You should’ve heard the way he talked about-about what he did.”

Sara doesn’t need him to elaborate. She knows exactly what he’s talking about and her tone remains low, “…we’ve both smited demons before.”

“Yeah, but not like he did,” Shane grumbles and he realizes he’s close to crushing a second cup of coffee, “He was…he was _proud_ of it. He _liked_ it. He wants…”

Shane stops and Sara waits. She waits patiently, coating another carrot before he finally confesses, “He wants to do it again. Like I said, he wants to be a hunter.”

“Nothing wrong with being a hunter.”

“Not-not the way he’s doing it. He-he wants me to  _help_  him.”

This actually  _does_  stall Sara, more so when Shane looks at her with serious eyes, “He wants me to make sure he doesn’t go too far. He wants me to-to pick the next one. That? None of it…none of it feels like hunting to me. It-It feels like…?”

“You think he’s-what? Becoming some kind of demon serial killer?” Sara tries to ask like it’s a joke but it doesn’t come out that way and his face reassures her that it’s  _not_ that way. That her questions are more a statement of facts that anything. It’s his greatest fear – that the question is the truth. That Ryan’s starting down some dark path he can’t stop. The path of a killer.

Sara clears her throat and stands up straighter, “No.”

“No?”

“ _No_ ,” she says it firmly and pushes at one of his arms, “Come on, man! I’ve known the guy less time than you and I’m telling you – he’s  _not_ the type! You two’ve joked about it plenty, but at the end of the day – Ryan Bergara is still a lil’ ball of sunshine. Maybe one with a bit more sunset to 'im now, but sunshine none the less.”

“Sara…”

“Shane,” she sing songs it and she’s sunshine herself, bright again as she draws him away from his dark worries, “This is  _Ryan_ , okay? Not Ed Gein. Now, come on, he wants to finish out the prophecy? I get that. You know your whole cabal is full of a bunch of a-holes who’ll, like, have some sort of blood vendetta against you. So, okay, he’s wrapping that up. Clear plan right there, right? Not just-just willy-nilly killings.”

“I-I guess,” he concedes and she pushes at him again, “Yeah! See! So, there – a point in the Ryan-isn’t-going-serial column! Now, tell me about the demon he hunted.”

“His name was…shit,” Shane struggles to remember, “Zig-? Zyg-? Zoo…?”

“Whoa,” Sara holds up both of her hands, “Wait, is it Zig'drozok?”

“Uh, yeah?” he’s not sure, but that sounds about right and she smacks him a third time and okay, it’s starting to hurt a little, “Dude! That guy? More like-like  _thing_? I saw a glimpse of it  _once_. Just once and trust me, once was enough. I-I took a hunter there and they did  _not_  come back and I got a peek and –  _yikes_. I nope’d right out of that situation.”

Sara shudders, “Man, the fact Ryan iced it? He  _should_  be proud!”

“Really?” Shane sounds more hopeful and Sara herself clearly feels better as she crows, “Yes! Yeah, man! Boy, you had me going there for a sec! Zig'drozok – god, it needed a good put down!”

“But…Ryan still wants-?”

“Psh, he  _thinks_  he wants,” Sara’s voice is all pure confidence now, “He chose the creepiest, nastiest, most non-human-ish of the bunch! You’ll see! You point him in the direction of a more human-y type demon? He’ll balk.”

Shane feels his spirits rise, “You think?”

“I know! You said he wants you to choose the next one, right?” After his nod, she continues, “Well then just pick the least monster-y one and watch him back down. I mean, Zig? Anyone’d kill that. Looked like the final boss from the end of a Resident Evil level. You chose someone like yours truly? He’ll think twice.”

Sara is munching happily on her carrot Nutella snack now and Shane feels buoyed himself, his grip on his coffee relaxing. Sara’s right. He’s over-reacting. Ryan is fine. _He’s fine_. He’s just…confused. Makes sense. Shane’s confused himself. Stupid half souls…

He sips at his coffee again and realizes two things. One, he probably _will_ have to give the idea of bonding more thought (but that can wait) and two, it’s time for him to remind one Ryan Bergara of his morals.

 

+

 

Ryan’s at his desk, headphones on and he’s trying – god, he’s trying so hard to concentrate.

The episode is looking good. The editing, the subtitles, the general progression of it. He knows it could use a few tweaks here and there and that’s what he’s trying to do right now, but his mind – it just keeps drifting. It keeps circling back to that moment. The one where he’d driven that spear straight into that demon’s heart and heard that glorious snap.

It’s hard to imagine that he’d ever been afraid. All he can recall now is the rush, the thrill of triumph. He defeated a monster, he was victorious. He was a warrior, a conquering hero, and now here he is, just sitting in an office, looking at a computer screen. It’s so…mundane. Pointless. Nothing here at Buzzfeed can compare to what he’d felt then, what he’d accomplished.

A demon. He defeated a _demon_. He defied death and he’s alive to talk about it, but there’s no one to talk to, because he has to keep all this to himself. And the hole, that crater inside of his soul, it seems to be _expanding_. He wants something, _needs_ something, something he can’t quite put his finger on and he feels like he’s suffocating.

He drags in breath after breath like it’s a chore and he types and talks to himself about little nothings. Adjust this. Change that. Focus, focus, focus. Try to be normal, try to be boring, try to be _human_. Try to forget there’s a fascinating, exciting, amazing world out there – one where you have power, one where you can vanquish horrible creatures, one where you have control.

And that, oh, _that_. Ryan’d never actually given it thought before, but it’s true, isn’t it? He’s never had control. He’s always just gone with the flow, just been swept up by the winds, the random flow of time and yeah, he’s done his best to pilot his own destiny. He set goals for himself – accomplished some of them, even – but, in the end, he’s at the mercy of fate. Just like every other sad sap in the mortal world, he’s a powerless pawn.

Or he was. He was until he chose to stand up and fight and he’ll never forget the look in that thing’s eyes when he smited it. When he _won_. He’s recalling it now, that look in those bottomless, doll-like eyes when a hand touches his shoulder and he nearly jumps out of his skin. He turns to see Shane and he’s saying something, but Ryan can’t hear the words with the headset on, so he removes it, “What?”

“I said I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Ryan just grunts in answer, eyes back on the screen again and…what was he working on? He looks to the paused computer screen for clues, but he doesn’t need to bother, Shane murmuring, “You about ready to knock off?”

“Ready to-?” Ryan turns to Shane again, then back to his computer and – sure enough –  the tiny little clock in the corner tells him that his work day is drawing to a close, “Oh. Uh, sure…”

He gets to his feet and Shane is eyeing him with concern and it’s annoying. He’s caught Shane giving him this look every now and then – ever since the Inn – this look like something’s wrong with him and nothing is. Hell, if anything, everything is beyond right. Well, right save for what he and Shane have had yet to discuss and he lowers his voice, “You, uh-? You-you give any more thought to-?”

“Yeah, man,” Shane cuts in, eyes darting about, as if worried someone will overhear, “That’s why I came looking for you. Figured we could, ah, talk.”

Ryan’s eyes widened, “Here?”

The look Shane shoots him announces his stupidity so blatantly that Ryan grimaces, “Okay, okay. Look, give me a sec to wrap this up and we can head out.”

Shane gives him a nod and Ryan finally finds the concentration to finish. Once his work on the video is complete, he grabs his jacket and the two head out, the sun’s current descent coloring the area in soft oranges and blues. Ryan expects Shane to direct him to his car or vice versa but instead Shane just keeps right on walking and Ryan jogs alongside to keep up.

They walk for a good two blocks, nary a word passing between them when Shane suddenly dips into a convenience store. He’s still had yet to say a thing, but neither has Ryan. He’s shot his friend quizzical looks, but hasn’t opened his mouth to ask anything relevant. Or, more accurately, his mouth has opened, but no sound has escaped.

Honestly, he’s just curious as to what the hell is happening and how this is all going to play out. Even more so when Shane buys a bottle of water, a mini fan, and a lighter. He walks out with his purchases in a little plastic bag and Ryan’s just about reaching his limit when Shane draws out his phone, “Just a sec, I’m getting us an uber.”

“An-? Why?”

“Gonna have it drop us off at,” Shane draws out the ‘at’ as he continues to play with his cell, finally cutting it off once he’s completed his task, “Plummer park. Looks like that’s the closest one.”

“Closest-?”

“Park. Nature. Need the earth,” Shane offers cryptically and Ryan’s ‘what?’ is lost as a car smoothly pulls up alongside them. Shane graciously opens the vehicle’s door for Ryan and Ryan, shaking his head, just decides to let it go. He climbs inside and Shane follows suit, the uber taking off to Shane’s requested drop off point.

The ride is quiet and the sun has dipped even more, making everything dark and a bit eerie, more so when they exit the car and enter the park. It’s pretty abandoned at this point – children home for the evening and adults with better things to do. After all, it’s not like the park is a hot spot for afterhours activities, what with the bevy of clubs and bars available at this time of night.

Shane moves with purpose but Ryan has no idea what the purpose is and he’s starting to get a little tired of _not_ knowing, so he finds his voice, “Why the hell are we here, buddy? Can’t we just go to my place or your-?”

“No,” Shane counters, “We need a neutral spot.”

“A neutral spot? Why the fuck do we-?”

“Because the last time we tried to talk you got…” he scratches behind one ear, “ah, _excited_.”

Ryan can’t help the snort that leaves him because, well, yeah – he _did_ get a little hot under the collar. Christ, earlier he’d been fixated on the memory of his successful hunt, when he _should_ have been fixated on the memory of Shane, naked and exposed and in all his demonic glory, flush from a climax _Ryan_ had talked him into. Now _that_ was a sight. _That_ was something to remember.

So much so that Ryan finds himself sort of…twitching. Jesus, he reflects on it too much and he’ll have to adjust himself. He kind of does _now_ and he discreetly does his best to fiddle with the fit of his jeans. If Shane notices, he doesn’t comment, instead remarking dryly, “We didn’t do much of a good job…taking it slow.”

“Eh, slow enough. It’s not like we’ve, ah…you know…”

Shane stops walking to turn and look at Ryan, expression crafty, “Not like we’ve what, Ry?”

Ryan feels twin blossoms of heat on either side of his face, “Like we’ve-we’ve done, uh, the, uh, the-the deed.”

“The deed?” Shane looks positively evil as he repeats this, “You make it sound like a deal with the devil.”

Another snort, “Thought you said you weren’t him.”

“I’m not, but I’m up for deals,” his eyes give Ryan a quick up down, “For the right price.”

“Sh-shut up,” Ryan manages on a shaky wheeze but the heat spreads, covering his whole face and his neck now. Shane seems mollified by Ryan’s response and picks up the pace again, Ryan following behind. They walk for a good stretch more before Shane draws to a halt, looking around contemplatively, “Yeah, yeah…think this’ll do. Good spot. No looky-loos.”

Ryan doesn’t add on to that, but he can definitely agree. The park is so devoid of people, of activity, that’s it as if he and Shane are the only two people on earth. The spot they’ve stopped is well kept, but dark – secluded. Trees and shrubs surround them, but not oppressively so. Certainly nothing like what they experienced at the Goatman’s Bridge. But it has a sort of similar feel, as far as the pure nature of it goes.

Shane puts down the little plastic bag from the convenience store and marches up to one of the nearby bushes. He grabs up greedy handfuls of leaves and dry twigs, then walks around in a tight circle, eyes inspecting the ground. He digs at various spots with the toe of his boot until he finds one that satisfies. He crouches down and looks up at Ryan, “Mind giving me a hand?”

Ryan blinks and wants to ask what the hell he’s giving him a hand _with_ , but instead he just nods dumbly. He crouches and Shane gestures to the spot near his feet, “Dig there. Make a hole about, oh…an inch deep? Maybe two?”

It’s a weird request, but Ryan’s getting pretty inured when it comes to weird and Shane. He’s still wearing his satchel (he’s reached a point where he doesn’t like the idea of having it off) and he reaches inside to fish out the Endless Weapon. He draws it forth and Shane hisses, as if the very sight of it offends him. Ryan thinks about asking but doesn’t, instead thinking of a gardening trowel, which the weapon easily shapes itself into.

He digs the hole as he was instructed, able to go quite a bit deeper than Shane asked for. It’s obvious the demon thought Ryan was going to have to use a stick or his hands, but the trowel makes the work a breeze. Once Ryan’s done, Shane drops the leaves and twigs into the hole. He wipes his hands off on one another and scowls, “Is that an Endless Weapon?”

“Yup.”

“Just-just carrying it around there, huh? In your little satchel?” Shane sounds irked and Ryan finds his own ire rising, “Yeah. I am. I can explain.”

“And you will,” Shane promises grimly, “Once we get where we’re going.”

He carefully rearranges the removed earth around the hole Ryan made, making it circle around in an almost artful fashion before rising up, his knees popping as he walks over to the bag. He draws out the water bottle and splashes it around the hole, but is careful not to pour any inside. He then hands the fan to Ryan, “You okay to pilot this?”

This gets an eyeroll even as Ryan takes it, “What am I doing with it?”

“Point it above the circle – near it, but not, I repeat, _not_ – in it. Its job is just to provide us with a good stream of air.”

At this point, Ryan’s finally reached the end of his rope, “You ever plan on telling me just what the fuck _we’re_ doing?”

“I told you,” Shane takes up the lighter and crouches back down near the hole, “We need a neutral spot.”

“So?”

“So, we’re going to MA’s.”

“M-?” Ryan can’t even continue with that one. ‘Ma’s’? As in-? As in Shane’s mom? Does Shane even _have_ a mom? Ryan has had yet to question Shane’s life, his childhood, in Chicago. He supposes at some point he’d simply concluded it was all a pack of lies, but if they’re going to-?

There’s a distinct crackle as Shane introduces the flame of the lighter to the debris in the hole. It sparks and catches, a tiny fire growing and Shane starts…chanting. He starts saying words in a strange, guttural voice Ryan’s never, ever heard him use before. It sends a distinct chill up his spine and, okay, maybe he’s _not_ as powerful as he thinks.

Maybe he’s not that much of a bad ass, because the way Shane looks –  the firelight playing along his angular face, the garble of words coming out –  it’s giving Ryan a good case of the spooks. The way Shane sounds…his words are like a record playing backwards. Warped. Unnatural. He’s making sounds in a way human vocal chords shouldn’t be capable of and Shane _isn’t_ human, so it makes sense, but…

And his eyes have gone black. Black as pitch and his chanting is growing more and more fervent and he’s never looked more like a demon than he does right now and he doesn’t even have his horns out and Ryan’s throat is lacing up tight, arms shaking and shit – he’s _scared_? What the fuck? But then it just – it _appears_.

He lets out a high-pitched (and frankly, _super_ embarrassing) squeal as, right to his left, not but two feet away, a red door appears right out of _thin_ fucking _air_. Shane’s eyes return to normal and he rises to his feet, “Ah! There we are!”

Ryan stops the fan and just…ogles the door. Cautiously, oh so cautiously, he walks to it. Walks _around_ it and it’s…a door, just a door. It’s a red and with the same round, dark knob on either side and his mind immediately leaps to Monsters Incorporated and he’s about to make that Disney reference when Shane takes him by one shoulder, “C’mon, hurry up. Before it leaves.”

“B-b-before it-?” Ryan starts but Shane’s already turned the knob and ushered Ryan through. Ryan passes through the open door and finds himself…inside a-a restaurant? A bar? Both? He looks around, completely bowled over, and he hears the door snap shut behind them and Shane is there, hands in his pockets - horns, tail, and wings on full display as he shrugs, “Welcome to the Move Around. Also called MA’s.”

Ryan has no idea what the fuck to say to that. He also has no idea how the hell to react to what he’s seeing. There are creatures everywhere. Demons, ghosts, monsters – all sorts of creatures. It’s like the Lot, but more chaotic. Different types of loud music bellows from various corners of the place, creating a cacophony of bizarre sounds as televisions hang from odd places, adding their own spice to the din. But-but there’s also chandeliers, gold inlaid chairs, delicate glass stem wear and the hum of violins.

It’s the wildest mash up of a place he’s ever seen. It’s as if someone took a few random chain restaurants, the ones with the kitschy shit on the walls and buffalo wings, and brutally smashed it together with some fine dining establishments, the kinds that only showcase classical art pieces and charge fifty dollars a plate.

“Earth, wind, fire, water and the right words and it’ll come to you. The Move Around has its name for a reason,” Shane explains with a grin, “It’s everywhere and nowhere at once. But, once you summon a door, it doesn’t last long – hence my kinda shoving you through.”

The only thing Ryan can manage in response is a nod and it’s clear Shane is planning on explain more or taking him somewhere or something when suddenly it’s like a scene from a cartoon. Ryan swears he can even hear the screech of a needle stopping on a record somewhere, the entire rowdy place going deathly silent, all manner of eyes turning on them.

Being the center of attention isn’t new to Ryan, but in this context, it is extremely unnerving. Are they going to be attacked? Devoured? Applauded? He honestly has no idea until the large crowd starts parting, someone or something clearly working its way through the throng of creatures. Eventually he picks out a set of pink horns and uniquely stripped feathered wings. A slight, dark skinned man approaches them and offers a bow, “My liege.”

The title is directed to Shane, who groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Great.”

“‘My liege’?” Ryan scoffs and Shane releases his nose to look at him, “Yeeeeah. Haven’t-haven’t been any place since I, ah, came back. I mean, went to the physician’s, but made sure to go after hours. I-I wasn’t sure how anyone would react to, um,” he can’t seem to continue on that thread, merely muttering ‘shit’ under his breath as the man before them continues.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Kitreka, one of the prime majordomos of this establishment and member of the first order of Nephilim. You both honor and humble us with your presence.”

Shane’s head tips back and he looks at the ceiling as if it will offer him some respite, “Okay, look, nice to meet you. I get it, I’m-I’m high level now-”

“High level?” Kitreka can’t help but cry, “My liege, a thousand apologies for my interruption, but surely you recognize your worth. You are beyond levels and titles - your power proceeds you! I can only hope we offer the proper amount of deference.”

Ryan crosses his arms and looks to Shane for explanation and Shane’s head tips down, eyes easily meeting his friend’s, “I can’t remember if I mentioned it, but, um – when you reach a certain level, you get more than just nifty new ‘super powers’ – you get a, ah, kind of prestige? And-and others,” he waves out to the crowd before them, “They can feel it.”

Ryan looks over the group and then at Shane again. Now that the, for lack of a better description, ‘void-ness’, has left Shane, he feels a lot more like the Shane Ryan knows. He doesn’t feel any sort of energy coming off of him. But it’s clear their captive audience does, Kitreka continuing to grovel, “If I may, my lord, it would be my great privilege to escort both you and your consort to a private room.”

This gets immediate responses from both Shane and Ryan, ones that overlap. Ryan, insulted, cries out ‘Consort?!’ at the exact same moment as Shane, surprised, asks ‘Private Room?’ Kitreka merely rises from his bow, smiling to show brilliant white teeth as he draws out what looks like a garage door opener from his vest and pushes a button.

Glowing, ethereal white steps appear in front of them, each step floating up and up, curving high above the heads of the other patrons of MA’s. Kitreka tucks the device back into his vest before deftly walking up the newly made staircase backwards, his hands spread, body once more bowed in submission.

Shane and Ryan can only look at one another quizzically before Shane just gestures that they should follow because, really, what else can they do?

Ryan starts up the steps first, slightly freaked out by the transparency of them even as Shane follows close behind. As they continue their ascent, everything beneath them seems to vanish, growing foggier and foggier until they reach the final step and a long, finely furnished hallway appears. It reminds Ryan a little too much of one of the hotel hallways in ‘The Shining’. He’s honest to god worried he’s going to see a creepy pair of twin girls. Thankfully no such apparitions appear, but they do draw up to closed, ornately lacquered door with what looks like a mirror attached to the center of it. But when Ryan looks into it, he sees no reflection. Not of himself, nor Shane, nor Kitreka, who gestures to it, “If you would.”

“If…I…would…what?” Shane spaces out each word, clearly just as lost as Ryan is, and _that’s_ a refreshing change.

Kitreka strokes at his goatee, clearly amused, “Once more, I offer you my sincerest apologies, my liege. I’d forgotten your ascension was most rapid and most recent. You are no doubt unacquainted with this device. This,” he waves to the mirror, “is a progenerator. They have a myriad of uses, but, for our establishment – they are used to craft private rooms to the exact wants and desires of our more prestigious clientele.”

“Say what now?” Shane asks, still confused and Ryan’s eyebrows knit together, “So – what? He looks into it and the progenerator makes him a room?”

“Ah! Your consort is most wise!”

“Okay, the ‘consort’ has a name,” Ryan mutters and then, quickly realizing his mistake, makes sure to tack on, “And I’m-I’m not a ‘consort’, alright, buddy?!”

Kitreka merely bobs his head, “Of course, of course.”

Ryan doesn’t think this guy believes him but, whatever, he just pokes Shane, “Go ahead, big guy. Look at the thing and make the room.”

“I’m-? I don’t-?” Shane is obviously uncomfortable and Ryan rolls his eyes, “Fine, I’ll look at it with you, you big wimp.”

“Wimp! I’m not a wimp, you-!” Shane sounds half outraged, half amused and it’s such a funny mix Ryan can’t help but chuckle as he looks into the progenerator. Shane bends down a bit and they line their faces up together. It still looks like a mirror, but still a mirror that doesn’t reflect their faces. It just…reflects the hall behind them.

It’s the most oddball thing – one-part creepy, one-part fascinating and then it just – dissolves into the door. This action alone cements it firmly into the creepy category, fascination dropping off at the sight. Kitreka, unfazed, merely lets out a pleased ‘ah ha!’ before reaching into his vest again to draw out a set of keys.

He unlocks the door and swings it open to reveal a pretty damn fine room. There’s a pool table, some old vintage arcade cabinets, and an old-style popcorn maker. Kitreka makes sure to point out each in turn, explaining their fancier features and histories as if they are things he’s purchased, as opposed to things Shane and Ryan’s thoughts conjured.

There’s a bar against one wall, covered from top to bottom in glittering bottles, a cornucopia of different liquors as well a robot (an honest to god _robot_ ) that leans against the back wall. Kitreak informs them that it can apparently mix them any alcoholic concoction they would like on a whim. There’s also – at first glance – what appears to be a finely inscrolled wood art piece worked into the wall. But then Kitreka pushes a sequences of the more protruding wooden knobs and a bed appears.

A murphy bed. It’s a goddamn _murphy bed_ and it’s a nice one. A nice, big, _long_ bed and once it’s removed from the wall and resting on the lush carpet, a hazy mist forms high above it to make a mirror – a mirror that _does_ show their reflections and Kitreka eyes them both, though the majority of his eyeful settles on Ryan, “ _Not_ a ‘consort’?”

“No,” Ryan returns waspishly, his entire being on fire with a full body blush even as Shane murmurs, “Wasn’t me that made the bed.”

“It-It wasn’t me either! You arrogant son of a-!”

Apparently sensing the ensuing argument, Kitreka smoothly cuts in, “Before I withdraw, gentlemen, this,” he gestures to a button to one side of the front door, “Can be used to summon your personal roomkeeper. They will assist you no matter what you may require and please, enjoy your time here at the Move Around.”

Kitreka leaves and Shane looks around the space with a hefty breath, “Guess our neutral space became private space, after all.”

“Yeah,” Ryan looks at the bed, “Pretty damn private.”

Shane walks over and gently tucks the bed back into the wall, leaning against it once it’s closed to ask, “You hungry?”

Ryan sticks his bottom lip out and nods, “Yeah. I could eat.”

Shane walks over to the button and pushes it. It only takes a second before the door opens and a familiar face stands there, “How can I help you, boys?”

“Viola?” Ryan asks and Shane looks to Ryan in confusion. Viola, for her part, is unmoved, drawing out the same kind of ordering pad she used at Jenny’s. Hell, she’s still even wearing the same waitress uniform, “Guessing you want some food.”

“You’d be guessing right,” Shane asks with a smirk, “No, um? No ‘gentlemen’?”

Viola sucks her teeth and Shane’s smirk grows, “‘No, ‘my liege’?”

“You a demon?”

“Yes.”

“High level?”

“Highest apparently.”

“You my boss? Takin’ care of my kids? Payin’ my bills? Doin’ my laundry?” she shoots out and Shane looks beyond delighted as she continues in the same, deadpan tone, “No? Then you’re just a demon and he’s just a human and I’m just doing my job, so you boys want to order or what?”

“Ryan, you know this angel?” Shane asks, forking a thumb in Viola’s direction and Ryan’s eyes go huge, “I mean, I met her at a restaurant – a _human_ one –  she was my server, but I-I didn’t know she was an angel!”

“That’s cause I’m not,” she returns crisply, “He meant ‘angel’ as in the compliment, not the species. Now, you all going to tell me what you want or we going to stand here all night?”

“Do-? Do we get menus or-?” Ryan starts and he gets twin pitying looks from Shane and Viola, Shane explaining, “This is MA’s, Ryan. Everywhere and nowhere, remember? You can order anything. You want fried chicken straight from a Southerner’s hands, they’ll take it. Bún chả, direct from Vietnam? No problem. Just ask and you can get it. I might not’ve known they had private rooms, but I know that.”

“…why not just have ambrosia?”

One of Viola’s eyebrows arches, “That’s carnival food. You need real food. Now what do you want?”

Ryan’s starting to wonder if MA’s ironically employs people who _act_ likes mothers, Viola currently nailing him with that stern mother's eye as he gulps, “Uh, can-can I just…? Have a cheeseburger?”

She nods and writes it down, then looks to Shane, who actually looks a bit shy himself, “This-this might be a stretch, but…I was thinking,” he then says something Ryan can’t even begin to understand. It sounds like ‘crawl-jaw-laca-shack’ but he’s sure if he said it like that, he’d be wrong. It’s one of those words that human vocal chords shouldn’t be able to make, but Viola doesn’t look surprised, merely scribbling it down with a nod, “Be back in a bit.”

But before she leaves, she gestures to directly to the wall where the bed is stored, “Best not see you in that when I get back. You boys can save it ‘till after I make my delivery.”

With that she leaves them both there, each blushing and awkward and wondering how the hell she knew that was there.


	12. Chapter 12

“Your cheeseburger,” Viola slides a plate to Ryan and then turns to Shane offering him a big bowl, “Your…meal.”

“Can’t say the name?” Shane teases and she gives him an icy glare, “Don’t want to. You want to eat it, that’s your prerogative. It’s not mine, that’s for sure.”

“And what is?” Shane asks and Ryan wonders what his deal is. The room has a booth to one side of the bar, something akin to what you’d find in a Chipotle restaurant. Ryan’s not sure which of them conjured it, but after Viola left he’d made a beeline for it, unsure where else to go. Shane followed suit and they’d barely been sat when she breezed right back in with their food.

Ryan’s is the standard burger and fries. Shane’s? He looks over at it and grimaces. It looks like raw meat mixed with swamp water and something questionably leafy. Is that-? Is it kale, maybe? Ryan kind of doubts it. He also doubts Shane’s sanity as he continues his interaction with Viola, because now that Ryan’s been around her more she seems…intimidating, especially as she stares Shane down, “None of your business.”

“Can’t blame a guy for asking,” his eyes narrow as they flick over her, “Um, do-do I know you?”

Viola arches one eyebrow even as she sets down their utensils. Shane plods on, “It’s just-? You seem…familiar.”

“Heard that before,” is her cryptic response and she gestures over to the bar, “You boys want drinks, the bot’ll get ‘em for you. You need me, press the button near the door. Otherwise, I’ll take my leave.”

She does and then some. Ryan’s never seen someone move so fast without running or jogging. It’s like she…glides. Royal, regal. The moment she’s gone he turns to Shane, “So – what is she?”

“Damned if I know,” Shane says, attention directed to his food, “It’s rude to ask.”

Ryan considers this and then nods to himself, makes sense. He thinks about asking Shane why she seemed familiar but decides against it. It’s not important. She’s not an angel and he’s pretty sure she’s not a demon. Maybe a sphinx? The thought makes Ryan grin even as he starts picking at his fries, “What about Kitreka? He had his horns on the side of his head instead of the top and he mentioned niflers or-?”

“Nephilim,” Shane corrects with a grin, “Yeah – you think Sara’s rare, Nephilim are the offspring of angels, so, his saying he’s from the first order is something of a laugh. He’s probably from the _only_ order. Probably could count ‘em on one hand.”

Ryan can only blink, “Angels…ah?”

“Fuck?” Shane says it and Ryan’s sure he _only_ says it to see the face Ryan makes. His gleeful snicker confirms that, “Occasionally. It’s been known to happen – hence Nephilim. They’re kind of the redheaded step children of our world though – especially one of Kit’s ilk, seeing as I’m pretty sure he’s part demon, part angel.”

“That’s-?” Ryan just stalls because he’s not even sure _what_ that is. Instead he switches gears, pointing one of his fries in the direction of Shane’s food, “What about that then? Want to tell me what that is?”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” his friend returns even as he takes a big slurp of his soup (is it soup?)  and Ryan crosses his arms, “Try me.”

“Okay, if you say so,” Shane lets out a burdened sigh, “It’s…it’s the flesh of the innocent.”

Ryan blinks.

“Swimming in the tears of the damned.”

Ryan lets out a loud shock of laughter, “You’re so full of shit!”

“Got you for a minute though, didn’t I?’

“Not even close,” Ryan chuckles, shaking his head and refusing to admit that – for like – _maybe_ two seconds – he _did_ think it might be something like that. After all, the meat looks so damned _raw_. Still, when Shane takes another spoonful and a wave of melancholy passes over his face Ryan has to ask, “No good?”

“No, no. It’s-it’s not that,” Shane swirls his spoon, knocking about some of the questionably slimy pieces inside, “When you-? I mean, no, um – let me try again. Those-those dreams, memories of mine that you saw, when you had them – what did you see?”

Ryan wasn’t expecting this question, but in reflection it makes perfect sense for Shane to ask. Christ, so much has happened and there’s so much they still haven’t discussed. It makes sense Shane would want to know. Hell, Ryan has his own unanswered questions. This isn’t the conversation they came here for, but now Ryan realizes it’s the conversation they need to have.

They spent a long time apart. There are gaps to fill. So he digs into his fries and does his best to talk while doing so, “Actually, um, there were a lot of them.”

“Did you see how I…?” Shane trails off, clearly unhappy as he obviously _forces_  himself to ask, “Did you see me become a demon?”

The taste of the fries becomes markedly noticeable now, salty and dry, working their way clumsily down Ryan’s throat as he chokes out, “Yeah.”

Shane lets the spoon go noisily, leaning back into his seat, “Did you see what happened after?”

“I-? I saw you talk to some demons – one of them, that same one back in New Orleans?”

“Gloria?”

“Yeah, her. She flew you off and then it just-? Sort of…ended.”

Shane sucks in a loud breath and nods, “Yeah, she took me off and got me cleaned up and…becoming a demon, my first smiting…it’s, y’know, it’s a cause for celebration down there. In Hell,” he finally glances over towards Ryan as a wryer smile forms, “You  _do_  know that Hell isn’t  _beneath_  the Earth, right?”

“Well obviously,” Ryan snorts and Shane’s smile becomes a touch more genuine, “Yeah, it’s-it’s an adjacent dimension. One only accessible to your kind after death, when you evolve to your natural forms. Pure souls.”

“Wouldn’t-wouldn’t it be  _de_ volve? We start out as souls, ri-?” he starts but Shane interrupts with an impatient wave of one hand, “No, no. You – yeah, you start off as a soul, but then you get a body, you grow and change and your soul changes with you. And then, when you die, you evolve into your final state. Your pure soul form – good or bad. And you go to our dimension or…?”

He trails off and Ryan’s eyes go big, “Heaven? Heaven is its own dimension too?!”

“Well, it’s certainly not a place on earth,” Shane chuckles, “Not any more than Hell is.”

Bringing up the dreams causes several of them to flip through Ryan’s mind and he speaks before thinking, “But if Hell isn’t below, then why were you dragged under-?”

The moment he catches sight of Shane he stops. It’s as if his friend’s face was a colorful chalkboard that’s been abruptly wiped clean. All emotion, all life, leaves it. It’s a mask. Blank and grey and Ryan feels like shit all of the sudden, “I-I mean, I, um…?”

“So you saw that too,” Shane whispers and then says something at a volume below that, but Ryan catches it all the same for its significance, “The Fall.”

Ryan feels his whole throat work on his next swallow and he’s just contemplating how exactly to apologize when all the life comes right back into Shane’s face. It’s as if someone’s just unpaused a song and he’s animated, “Well, Luci is nothing if not dramatic. Access to his dimension has to be reasonably flashy, doesn’t it?”

He’s digging back into his meal with relish but Ryan can feel the falseness of the action, of his general voice and demeanor. Fitting really, considering, well - everything. Lately everything has felt turned on its head. Even simple things, like their wardrobe. Ryan has no idea why he notices this now of all times, but it just…it stands out.

Maybe because the awkward turn their conversation took, but now Ryan really sees Shane’s overly colorful bomber jacket (one Ryan didn’t even know he had) in all its unique glory. Beneath is more standard - a plain white shirt, normal tan chinos but the jacket…it just seems to highlight how different Shane’s been of late and Ryan…he’s no better.

After all, when did he take to wearing red flannel? Too many buttons to do up, too much hassle. Again, jeans, boots – all pretty standard, but the thought comes to him all the same. Differences. Changes. In look and in character and Ryan knows Shane is still upset, wants to say he’s sorry, but instead continues with change as he picks at his fries again and forgoes the apology, “You, um, you were saying?”

Shane raises his eyebrows at him and Ryan asks, “A-about your first smiting? The food?”

“Oh! Yeah! That!” Shane lets out a dry sound that Ryan’s sure is supposed to be a laugh, “Gloria and a bunch of other cabal creeps took me to a celebration. A real ‘Welcome to Hell’ party and since Hell is its own dimension, it has its own cuisine. Creatures and plants native to there alone and that’s what this is!”

He holds up the bowl, “A mix of some of those things. There’s this beast down there, it’s, um – I can’t really pronounce its name in human tongue, its–” he makes a bunch of growls and grunts that Ryan thinks sound like ‘crawl-jaw’, “And it’s a hideous thing, man. I’m talking excess tongues, needle teeth in places teeth shouldn’t be – multiple eyes and limbs and just – yikes. That thing’ll make your hair stand on end. They tend to use ‘em in tortures for the more fucked up souls. Child murderers and what have you. But, some of them are also turned into, well…”

Once more he holds up his meal, “And then the liquid? That’s native to Hell too. Again, hard to pronounce in a human tongue. Also impossible to consume _with_ a human tongue unless you _want_ to lose it. Mainly because this is the perfect balance between blazing hot and freezing cold. Not warm, mind you – it’s those two temperatures at once, at the exact same moment. Blazing hot _and_ freezing cold. I don’t think there’s a definition for that precisely and the leafy bits are a vegetation that tends to grow in what was colorfully dubbed by some demons as the ‘Wandering Fields’.”

“The-?”

“The Wandering Fields. A place for souls that were too wicked for limbo or a ghost state, but also too innocent for pure torture. It’s an endless, flat landscape for them to wander for eternity. And I do mean flat. Sort of like Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia, but a million times more depressing. I mean, Bolivia can be pretty – the Fields are _not_. I spent some time there, actually…before, well,” he lifts up his spoon as if to imply it was before he was a demon and he takes another sip.

Ryan feels all kinds of fuck- _awful_ , “Christ, man – how can you stand to eat that?”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Shane jokes but it’s not funny to Ryan, who wonders if he can stomach finishing his own meal after that unpleasant tale. Shane must sense it because he pushes at Ryan’s plate, “C’mon, man. I haven’t tortured a soul in a millennia and I’m not about to start with you, so – eat up.”

“Now I can see why you took care of that producer the way you did,” Ryan murmurs as he picks up his cheeseburger and makes himself take a bite. It’s surprisingly good despite his mood but then he catches Shane shooting him a questioning look, “When you were voided. There was this producer, Bruce? Bruin? He was in my dream when you-?”

“Brumon,” Shane softly corrects, “Yeah. Forgot. He was there, wasn’t he?”

Ryan nods and swallows before continuing, “So I was saying, I can see why you did what you did. Tearing him and his friends apart. Leaving one dude’s face on a pizza…”

“The pizza!” Shane smacks a hand to his forehead, “Oh shit! I remember that too! Kinda. It’s all sort of,” he waves a hand and continues eating while Ryan risks, “That being said…you pick our next target?”

The heartfelt sigh Shane lets out, the way he leans back from the table – it tells Ryan it was the wrong time to ask, but he’s undeterred, “Look, we gotta finish this, man.”

“No. We don’t,” Shane returns and he fiddles with his spoon some more before obviously concluding he’s not going to finish as he pushes the bowl aside, “You don’t get it, Ryan. All the smiting I’ve done – there’s always been something behind it. It was either to protect you or myself and what I did when I was with the Void…that was just? It was fucked up. _It was fucked up_.”

He repeats the last as if it’s important for Ryan to understand, “The Void stirred up all the dark, awful things in me. All the things you think and want to do, but don’t, because you have impulse control. I’m not-? I’m not _proud_ of what I did, alright? I know, very un-demon of me, but I’m _not_. I wish I-I hadn’t done any of it, but I’d do it all again. I’d do it for _you_ , because I…because…”

Shane can’t seem to say the words. Frankly, Ryan’s not sure he’s ready for him to. They’ve danced around it. Danced around everything and he’s not certain he’s ready to reach the end of their endless emotional waltz as he supplies, “I’m just trying to do the same, buddy. Just trying to protect you.”

“You don’t have to though,” Shane argues, “You don’t have to hunt demons, Ryan, and the way you-the way you…” he shakes his head, “Tell me. Again. Tell me exactly how you killed Zig-whatever-the-fuck-the-rest-of-his-name-is and how you got your hands on an endless weapon and just what the hell is up with your Lara Croft satchel.”

He gestures to the satchel when he says it and Ryan finds himself placing a protective hand over it, his voice defensive, “Hey! This thing saved my life a couple of times. I used when I, uh, well,” he gestures to Shane, “faced off against you.”

“Me?”

“Don’t you remember making a beeline for my head in New Orleans? You’re claws clipped off some of my hair!” Ryan points to it as if to emphasis the point, “You lunged at me, I shot you with the holy water gun, you flew right over me, took some of my hair and then I-I-! I stabbed you!”

“I remember the gun,” Shane rubs at his face, “And the stabbing. Trust me, you don’t ever forget being _stabbed_.”

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.”

“Wow. Thanks. Real good friendship qualities there, Mr. Bergara.”

“Hey! I stabbed you to give you half my _soul_ and to save you, so, yeah – no – no apologies,” Ryan has no idea why their tones have taken on a more conversational banter but he can’t help but smile from it, and Shane seems much the same, grinning as he adds, “Just sayin’, if you _had_ to stab me, I’d’ve much preferred it in a different fashion. Like, in the sexy fun way.”

The wheeze that escapes Ryan is very pronounced, “There’s a sexy fun way of stabbing someone!?”

“Oh, I think you know there is, sir!”

“H-how-?” Ryan has a hard time asking between his laughter and Shane’s eyes have taken on a playful glint, “You want me to pull the bed down and show you?”

The laughter dies as Ryan openly blushes at the suggestion and now Shane is the one roaring with laughter. Cheeky bastard. One that presses on, “That holy water hurt, by the way. Never had it affect me before – kind of demon I am, it usually doesn’t, but I guess with the Void tangled up in me, it worked. Don’t think it would now, thank god. Shit _stings_.”

“Yeah, Mal said that.”

“Mal? As in Malthazor?” Shane asks, “You shot _Malthazor_ with holy water?”

“It’s a long story,” Ryan dismisses, “And not the one you’re asking about. Although I will say Mal is the one who hooked me up with the endless weapon and the satchel. Well, I mean, I already _had_ the satchel but he got some guys to mess with it, make it like – some weird endless pocket dimension to store shit in.”

“So…it’s a Mary Poppins’s bag?”

“That’s what I said!” Ryan slaps a hand on the table, happy someone else gets the reference, “And it is, man. It holds all sorts of really weird shit and some equipment I can use, like this!”

He reaches in and draws out one of the salt bombs, his face aglow with excitement, “I used one of these on Ziggy. Jammed it right down his throat.”

“You stuffed a bath bomb in his mouth?” Shane asks incredulously and Ryan’s pleasure is wiped away by immediate annoyance, “It’s not a bath bomb, you idio-holy shit, it does look like a bath bomb.”

The last few words blend together as Ryan realizes that Shane isn’t wrong and he eyes the device speculatively while his friend smirks, “What scent is it? Cherry blossom? Apple?”

“It’s not scented,” Ryan gripes, even as he draws it close for a quick, discreet sniff (just to check), “And it’s a salt bomb.”

“Aren’t bath bombs _made_ of salt?”

“I don’t know. Shut up, Shane.” his reply comes out fussy, but he’s not really upset, Shane’s evident amusement infectious as he laughs over his next words, “You’re ruining this.”

“I’m sorry, tell me all about your little toys, Batman. What-what else do you have in your utility belt?” the last is asked in wheezes that Ryan can’t help but return because, well, it _is_ kind of funny, “It’s not a utility belt, you dick!”

“Yeah, that’d be cooler. And, let’s be honest, we've talked about this before and I’d be the Caped Crusader before you.”

Ryan lets out an affronted noise, “How do you figure?”

“Well, mean, not to brag, but I already _do_ have wings like a bat, so…”

“Batman doesn’t have wings!”

“Eh, close enough.”

“You-you…” Ryan can’t even manage to say what Shane is, laughing as he shakes his head, “I’ll have you know I’ve got a lot of cool gadgets in here. You saw the endless weapon, but I’ve also got this light orb thing and a _real_ holy water gun with actual bullets and-and-!”

“And lube?” Shane can’t help but toss out and Ryan deflates some, “Yeah, that-that-? That was probably Judy? Mal told me she messed with the satchel first, added some things and, uh, when-when we were, ah…”

“Wonder what else she snuck in there,” Shane’s eyes flick to Ryan’s, “And why you knew that would be in there.”

“I…” Ryan licks his lips, “I didn’t _know_ it would be in there. Not exactly. I just,” he reaches a hand in, “I think of something and reach in and-and if it’s in there…”

Ryan feels a foil packet press lightly into his hands and he draws out a condom that he tosses up on the table between them, embarrassed, “Yeeeah…”

“So, anything you think of, you can pull out of there?”

Ryan shakes his head, “No. Think-think it has to be packed beforehand. Like, I can stick my hand in now, think of fifty bucks…” he reaches in and waits, nothing happens and he draws out his empty hand, “See? Nothing. But!” he reaches back in, thinks of the endless weapon and pulls it out. Shane clicks his tongue to highlight his distaste, “Yeah. You-you can put that thing away. Thanks.”

“This bothers you?” Ryan points it towards him and Shane draws back, “In a word? Yeah. Most holy artifacts have no effect, but one of those?”

His nose wrinkles even as Ryan tucks it away, “And did you say a real gun?”

“Yeah! It has these frozen holy water bullets that-!”

“Okay, gonna stop you right there,” Shane rises up from the booth, walks around in a tight circle, shoulders hunched, “I-I don’t like this, Ryan.”

“Don’t like-?”

“This,” he gestures to Ryan, to the room, “All of it! The whole-the whole Ricky Goldsworth bit is fun now and then, but it seems like you really _want_ that. To actually live it. To be the cold-blooded bad ass or whatever and I don’t like it, Ryan!”

“Look, this isn’t bit!” Ryan gets to his own feet, walks around Shane and approaches the pool table, leaning back against it as he crosses his arms, “And I’m not Ricky or trying to be him or something. Don’t-don’t be stupid. I’m just-? I’m doing what has to be done. It’s not like I can smite these guys at will like you!”

“Like I-? I can’t do that!”

“Bullshit! Sara and I saw you do it!” Ryan snaps his fingers in quick succession, “You were Thanos at the end of Avengers snapping up energy left and right.”

“I…?” Shane looks thunderstruck, “I was?”

Ryan can tell the reaction is genuine and his eyes widen, “You-? You didn’t know? Don’t-don’t remember?”

Shane comes closer, walks around the table until he’s on the opposite end, his hands resting on the green billiard cloth, “No. I don’t.”

He sounds upset again and Ryan hates to pry, but, “How-?”

“I told you,” Shane breathes out, “I remember every second of it, but it’s blurred in parts. Distorted. I definitely don’t remember smiting demons at will and I’m damn sure I can’t do that again.”

“Take it that was a benefit of being voided?”

He just shrugs, “Good and bad, I guess. Although I’d like to peg it all as mostly bad considering the predicament we’re in.”

“Which is?”

“You wanting to hunt demons, having a thoroughly unnatural reaction to it and my-my…” Shane braces both hands on the table and shakes his head, “…I haven’t, ah, told you yet. About…about my visit to Qyrora.”

Ryan, who’d been prepping for another argument, suddenly stands ramrod straight, ice lacing his veins, “What about it?”

Shane pushes back from the table, hands disappearing into his jacket’s pockets as he rocks back on his heels, “Oh. Nothing much. Just…having a hard time keeping myself together, that’s all.”

The way the lights hang over the table, there’s a shadow over Shane’s face. It’s a dark slant over his eyes, the bridge of his nose, but his mouth – his mouth is highlighted as he speaks, “That shadow creature crap. Always said it was bullshit – dismissed it. Probably because that’s basically the core of what I am. When I took on the Void, it magnified that – it’s how I lived. How I traveled. I become more part of that than anything and it’s…sort of played havoc with my regular structure.”

“You’re…” Ryan shifts on his feet, trying to understand, “You’re…what? Going ghost?”

“Kind of,” Shane’s lips twitch, “It’s certainly harder for me to stay physical. I mean, you, ah, witnessed up close and personal how I can…dissipate.”

At first Ryan’s not sure what he’s talking about but then he recalls with a hot clarity that makes his pulse skip, “You mean when you possessed me.”

A curt nod, “Normally just stick to the shadows. I always thought…you know…maybe I could slip into a host. But, I mean, I never tried. It’s-it’s not _easy_ for demons to do that. You have to have a natural propensity for shadows. You have to have a host that’s open or corrupt or willing.”

“Wh-what was I?”

The shadow over Shane’s eyes is frustrating, the smile he can see clearly more so, “I think you know.”

Ryan shudders and Shane lets out a husky laugh, “Good time to do it though, huh?”

“I didn’t-didn’t want you to possess me to jerk me off,” Ryan argues, face flushing at the announcement and he expects a laugh, an ease to the tension but Shane just leans fully into the light, looking every bit the demon, “Maybe not. But, apparently, I did.”

A strange, jittery laugh leaves Ryan, “Yeah. You-you would. And-and to think you called _me_ the kinky fucker.”

He’s rewarded with another shrug and Ryan finds himself walking closer, “Could-? Could you do it again?”

Shane’s head rears back some, his surprise evident, as Ryan murmurs, “Possess me, I mean.”

“What? Right now?”

 “I mean, I’d have to check my schedule, but maybe I next Thursday-?” Ryan snarks before adding, “Yes - _now_ , dumb dumb.”

A drawn-out sound of uncertainty leaves Shane, sort of a groan, sort of not. Ryan recognizes it for what it is. An internal war, one where Shane doesn’t want to do it – knows it’s wrong but is curious. He knows his friend. He goes for the jugular, “All this big talk about science, proving things…”

“Stop it.”

“You always want to lose yourself in things, but also want to get facts behind them, hard evidence…”

“You’re a dick.”

“I have one,” Ryan chuckles, “Think you can come inside me _without_ touching it this time?”

He gets a leveling glare, “You know, you used to be scared to provoke demons. To even talk to them.”

“Still am,” Ryan promises, “Depending on the demon in question, now that I know there’s a whole world of types. And your type?” he smirks, “Not scary.”

“Famous last words, Bergara,” it comes out in the softest of hisses at the end as Shane just…dissolves. It’s like watching smoke trail from the end of a cigarette. Thin, ephemeral twirls of wispy smoky breaking him down until he’s not there anymore and he dissipates into the air, into the darkest corners of it and then Ryan feels something warm curling up his legs, his chest, and he can’t see anything, can’t feel anything solidly _real_ but-

It’s like slipping beneath the surface of water. Diving deep and under, under, under…

His tongue – their tongue – licks a thick pair of lips, teeth gently biting down on a plush bottom lip before moving, forming a word, a name, “Ryan?”

Two voices? No.

One. Just one voice. Ryan’s voice, but Shane asked. Or was it _their_ voice?

That first time had been lost under the haze of lust and need. There hadn’t been time for this. For feeling, for recognizing how unearthly it all is. It’s like they’re layered on top of one another. Meshed and merged, cocooned in one body, one compact unit and it feels like – with the simplest of pushes – one way or another – there would only be one of them.

…no. Wouldn’t do that. Wouldn’t push Ryan out or bury him under his power and Ryan…Ryan wouldn’t do that to Shane…they’re together. Have to be. They could blend. Lose themselves as individuals and just become…

They’re one and they shift from foot to foot, feel the weight of one body, feel the weight of gravity on both their shoulders. One set of shoulders. Sturdy and strong and they raise their (Ryan’s?) left arm, fingers stretched out, palm bare. They brush that open palm along the billiards table – feel the soft green material beneath their skin and a breath gusts out of them because this is…strange.

And good. They feel…whole. No hole inside. No need to fall apart. One soul. One form. Together…

Shane sucks in a loud gasp as he draws back, as he pulls away, as he escapes to the other side of the table, back to where he was standing before and he staggers. Had to do it. He had to do it. Had to get away before…

His whole throat works, a kind of glugging action as if he’s drinking, but there’s nothing there. Everything is sort of spinning and he was…? He is…?

He blinks again and again and looks at his hands. He’s…himself. He’s in his own body again. He’s separate from Ryan and he drags in a ragged, loud breath, trying for levity even as his words come out breathless, “So…that’s that, then.”

Ryan looks just as overwhelmed, sort of teetering where he stands and Shane shakes his whole body like a dog shaking off water, “Funny. Was-was easier when I got you off. Though…gotta say…ashamed of myself for not taking my time there. Really enjoy the feel of your dick in your own - or better to say _our_ own-”

“Shut…” Ryan interrupts but has trouble getting the whole thing out and it looks like he doesn’t have the energy to. Shane frowns and is just about to go over, to check on him, when Ryan holds up a hand, as if sensing Shane’s intentions, finishing with, “…up. Shut up, Shane.”

The normal comment helps some, but Shane still worries. More so now that he’s gotten a real feel for that. He knows he shouldn’t have possessed Ryan but…well, he’s lived a long time. And it’s something he’s never done. Curiosity got the best of him. But now he understands a bit better why demons are so eager to possess a living host. Yeah. It’s…not a good thing.

He lets his hands disappear back into his bomber jacket, happy to be wearing the colorful piece he unearthed from his closet for the sort of defense it provides, “I don’t think we should do that again though.”

Ryan just looks at him.

“Like…ever.”

“Didn’t like it?” Ryan tries but both of them hear how false it sounds. No. Not hear. _Know_. They both know it for the lie it is and they just…stare at one another. Shane is the first to break eye contact, “That’s the deal though. Being all shadowy. Spent a lot of time unbodied when I was out doing my own hunting Void-style. Apparently, it’s taken its toll and it’s…”

His shoulders rise and fall in the shrug of someone who’s trying to pretend like a big deal isn’t all that big. Ryan isn’t having any of it, “When were you going to tell me?”

“Telling you now, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, think-think you should’ve told me earlier that you’re…you’re…” Ryan seems to be dancing around a description and even if they hadn’t shared a body recently, Shane would’ve known the answer, would’ve read his mind, “I’m not _dying_ , Ryan. Just…having trouble, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” Ryan grumbles skeptically, “And the doctor didn’t have any ideas on how to fix it?”

Shane bites the inside of one cheek. Well. Here it is. The big moment, “Yeah, actually. She did. She thinks we should bond.”

His friend’s eyes grow comically wide, “Bond?”

“Yup,” Shane pops the ‘p’.

“Again?”

He nods and waits for Ryan to say they should and argue about why they shouldn’t when he gets a surprise, “No.”

“No?”

“No,” Ryan repeats and Shane’s…not hurt. Of course not. Nor is he disappointed. This is the answer he wants.

Right?

Of course it is.

…still…

“Can-? Can I ask why?”

“Why what?” Ryan sounds so surprised and, again, not hurt, “Why you’re willing to kill for me, but not bond me.”

The eye roll he gets is epic, “Do you _want_ me to bond you?”

“No, but-”

“Exactly,” Ryan cuts him off, “And we shouldn’t be forced into it by circumstance. We should bond… _marry_ …because we both want to and because we’ve…properly dated or whatever,” some of confidence in his voice wavers as he carries on, “And then…when some time has passed and we both feel comfortable, I’ll…y’know…”

His voice dips in volume as he says ‘ask’ and Shane’s eyebrows rise, “Wait a minute! Is this just because _you_ want to ask?”

Ryan doesn’t answer but his face is growing visibly rosy again and Shane barks out a laugh, “Oh! This is rich! _You_ want to propose to _me_!”

“I don’t-!”

“What? Do-do you have it all planned out in your head?” He can’t help but tease, especially with how cute Ryan gets when he’s flustered, “Have you had it planned out since you were a kid? Bet you have. You’re the romantic sort.”

“I am not, you-you! You asshole!” Ryan cries and Jesus, Shane’s heart squeezes hard at the look on Ryan’s face, “Yeah you are. Let me guess – you planned on asking your lucky someone to marry you on the Haunted Mansion ride at Disney. That it?”

The last is asked so gentle, so playful, but at Ryan’s reaction, Shane hoots, arms rising up in victory, “Holy shit!”

“No…”

“I NAILED it!”

“No, no, no…”

“Got it in one! Holy shit,” Shane repeats and Ryan comes around the pool table to face Shane, to glower at him up close as he jabs a finger in his face, “You’re such a fucking dick!”

Shane leans forward, pretends he’s going to bite Ryan’s pointing finger off and Ryan draws it back, arms crossing again, “Can we just-? Can we talk about the hunt now?”

Shane’s good mood dims.

“Please?”

Shane shakes his head in dismay, “Marriage off the table, murder? No problem, huh, pal?”

“I told you, it’s not-!” Ryan starts but Shane’s having none of it, just reaching inside his jacket to draw out a thin file. He’d hoped he might talk Ryan out of it, but he knows he can’t, so, fine. If that’s the case, he’ll try Sara’s play, “Here.”

He shoves the file in Ryan’s direction and Ryan looks startled, “What-?”

“Your next mission,” Shane mumbles, “Should you chose to accept it…”

Ryan takes the file, opens it and looks inside, “Arbusil?”

A nod, “Goes by Charlie Arbus here.”

Ryan flips through it and, hey, his face does grow sort of…remorseful. Shane should really give Sara all the credit she’s due, she IS a smart girl, “Dude, this guy looks…?”

“Normal? Human?” Shane offers dryly, “Yeah, well…”

Something catches Ryan’s eye and he looks up with horror, “He’s _shorter_ than me?”

“I know! Crazy, right? I didn’t think that was possible either, but-!” Shane starts but Ryan just bats out at him with the file to make him stop talking before he takes it back and looks through it again, frowning harder (if that’s even possible), “Why-? Why _this_ guy?”

“Eh, wasn’t a big priority when I was voided,” Shane admits, “I had bigger, more deadly fish to fry. Besides he’s…slippery.”

“Like Ziggy,” Ryan murmurs thoughtfully as he continues looking through the paperwork and Shane’s victory is starting to feel…less like one. Ryan’s really reading the papers, the research, and shit, shit, shit, “Yes, but different. Zig hid because it was a monstrous thing. Charlie is just kinda slimy. A real gofer for the cabal. You need money? He gets it. Weapons, drugs, passports? No problem. And then there’s the…more unsavory things he can get…”

Ryan looks through pictures of Charlie and while there’s still some trepidation, there’s also this dark determination that makes a hard ball form in the pit of Shane’s stomach, “So, he’s a bad guy.”

“Emphasis on ‘guy’.”

“You’re right – he’s a bad _demon_ ,” Ryan corrects and Shane hisses a ‘shit’ before growling, “No, Ryan, you were right the first time. He’s a _guy_. Yes, he’s a demon – he doesn’t have a host, but he’s just – he’s a run of the mill guy.”

“Oh yeah, just a guy who helps the cabal do all the nasty shit they do,” Ryan closes the file, holds it up, “Says in here he helped that one Senator you ganked in Kansas get his hands on kids and you know what he did with those k-!”

“Yes, Ryan,” Shane snaps back the file, tosses it to one side on a nearby chair, “I do. But that doesn’t give us the right-!”

“Of course it does! It’s not like the police are going to do it! And besides, your cabal needs to be taken down anyway. Last of your name, remember?”

“I don’t need to be the last of SHIT!” Shane’s voice rises, grows hot, “You forget, I possessed you. You _asked_ me. Take that in – you, Ryan Steven Bergara, asked me – a demon – to possess you.”

“So?”

“SO?! So, that’s the complete and total opposite of who you are as an individual! It’s so out of character that it’s-it’s-! I don’t know!” he flaps his arms about wildly, “It’s something else! Something crazy! Something not you, but hey, being inside you _did_ clear something up because now I know you have a hole.”

Ryan looks as if Shane’s struck him, his whole body rearing back from the words, a closed fist rising up to rub hard at the center of his chest as Shane continues, “You’ve got a hole inside you. A dark, empty pit since your soul was fractured in half and that hole – I felt it. It’s…growing, isn’t it?”

Ryan’s fist drops but only to join its twin. Both of his hands balled fists as he shakes his head, looks away, anger radiating off him in waves as Shane asks softly, “Why didn’t you-?”

“Now there’s a laugh,” Ryan returns bitterly, “You asking me why I didn’t tell you? Sucks, huh? Having shit kept from you, being left in the dark, getting only bits and pieces of-!” he looks down, head shaking and a humorless laugh leaves him, “Shit – and the doctor thinks we should bond. Bonding is the _last_ fucking thing you and I should do. Hell, we probably shouldn’t even…”

And now it’s Shane who feels as if Ryan’s struck him. He feels a chill run through him, head light as everything just…sort of sinks inside him, “You think we shouldn’t be together…”

“No…” Ryan starts but Shane collapses back against the pool table, defeated, destroyed, “No, no. You're...you’re right.”

The words come out threadbare. Empty. Hollow.

“You’re right. We shouldn’t be…”

“Shane…”

“I’m…” Shane pushes at the spot between his eyebrows with his right hand, eyes squeezing shut, pain coiling up inside him, sharp and heavy, “I’m a demon.”

No answer. Just breathing. Breathing that’s slowly decelerating from its earlier anger, breathing that’s just…Ryan’s…

Shane’s hand lowers even as he keeps his eyes closed. His whole long, lanky form seems to slump under the weight of the realization. His arms brace on the table behind him, help him to sinks so low as to almost match Ryan's height, “I’m a demon, you’re a human and I’ve…I’ve led you to this. None of this would’ve happened if…”

“Shane…”

“Should’ve just done the job, moved on. But I-? I wanted your friendship. Wanted to be…something else. Something human and normal, in-instead of just a…a low level from Hell. But, I mean, that’s what I am. What I’ll always be. Void mess aside, I’m just…”

He gives something of a shrug, sounds nonchalant as he confesses, “I’m a low life.”

“No,” Ryan’s reply is firm. Sure. He’s moved closer. He’s in Shane’s personal space and he raises a hand as if to touch his face but drops it, instead speaking with quiet determination, “You’re not, Shane.”

“C’mon, Ryan,” he practically _begs_ , “No lies. Just…say it, man. Say I’m…”

Shane can’t say any more. Can’t admit how broken he is, how he’s breaking _Ryan_ , and, honestly? He _wants_ Ryan to say those things to him. To say them because Shane knows he doesn’t have the strength to do it.

But Ryan does.

Ryan is strong and good and Shane‘s let him down again and again and been so goddamn selfish and he just wants his friend to end things. To cut the cord as he breathes, “It’d probably just be easier if-”

“ _No_ ,” Ryan intones it this time, touches his face this time, and Shane still doesn’t open his eyes, even as he feels Ryan’s hand on his right cheek, feels it slide down to his right shoulder. A firm squeeze, a reassuring one, “You’re none of those things. I’ve told you what you are.”

Finally Shane opens his eyes and he looks right into Ryan’s. Light locking on dark as he whispers, “Yours.”

Ryan nods, presses his forehead to Shane’s as he returns, “Mine.”

They stay there, in that moment. Frozen and crystallized in this quiet understanding for what seems an eternity.

But, eventually, Ryan draws back and looks at him, lips twitching lightly, “Which…um. Which is why I-I think there’s something we should do. No, something we _need_ to do.”

Shane voice cracks over the question, “Oh?”

“Yeah. And-and I think we need do it b-before we do anything else tonight.”

“And that is?” Shane asks but he knows, somehow he _knows_ , as he looks into Ryan’s handsome, open, shy face, “I…I think we need…we need to do it.”

Shane just looks at him.

“I think we need to go all the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I'm hardcore referencing a song by X Ambassadors in this. So, bonus for whoever picks up on that. 
> 
> 2\. Charlie is based on someone famous - another set of points for figuring out who that is. 
> 
> 3\. I'M SO SORRY FOR HOW LONG THIS TOOK TO UPDATE. I just like, looked up one day and almost a whole month had passed?! Like - dafuq? But seriously, this story is all plotted out in my head - it should probably end with chapter 17 maybe one or two longer - certainly NOT over 20 - and I WILL END IT. So, yes - just for those who are reading as it goes...


	13. Chapter 13

There’s a number of ways Shane can react to Ryan’s comment.

Ryan’s got snark as his top pick.

“Go all the way?” Shane asks with a quirk of his lips, “I dunno, Ry. Feel like if we do that, you might not respect me in the morning. Might not take me to homecoming.”

Ryan rolls his eyes and avoids the fist pump of winning a bet against himself.

“In fact,” Shane lets out an exaggerated gasp, “You’re one of them boys my momma warned me about, aren’t you?”

The overly affected southern drawl he takes on makes Ryan snicker, “The kind won’t purchase the cow ‘cause they can get the milk for free! Well, mister! I ain’t no bovine here for your thirst quenchin’! Ain’t-ain’t having you lure me ta the back seat of your fancy car for some sweaty, rock’a’lickin’ fumblin’ hootenanny, no siree bob!”

Ryan’s question comes out intertwined with chuckles, “Why would we need the back seat of a car when we have a perfectly good bed?”

“So you DID make the bed!” Shane crows and Ryan feels his face flush, “Look, that’s-? Can we just-?”

“Ryan, if you can’t use your big boy words to ask me for sex, then it’s a definite no,” the tone is teasing but Ryan can see Shane’s amusement is starting to dry up. Letting out a sigh, Ryan angles his body closer, so close he can feel the heat coming off of him as he meets his eyes, “Let me take you to bed, Shane.”

Ryan holds his eyes, holds them even as he sees the demon’s pale throat work up and down, even as he sees his pupils dilate, “I want it. You do too. We both have. Long time. We need it. Need to-”

“Fuck?” is cut in, a last-ditch effort at distraction, at deflecting with humor but Ryan is unmoved. Instead he nods as he takes Shane’s face in his hands, “Yes. I want to fuck you, Shane,” he searches his whole face, every last inch of it, eyes darting everywhere, soaking it all in as he murmurs, “Need to.”

He angles his head, locks their lips together. Despite the words, it’s a gentle kiss, a damned near chaste one. It’s soft and lulling and he feels a slight tremor beneath his fingertips, feels a chink in well-built armor as he opens his mouth, lets his tongue trace and tease the seam of Shane’s lips. Shane groans, opens, and Ryan wants to pump his fist again.

Instead he lets his mouth take the lead, deepens the kiss, tastes his friend even as his fingers card through his wild wave of brown hair. Their bodies come together, a slow pressure, a dance of hips and chests and everything sort of brushing up against one another – so careful, so slow. But Shane’s hands rise up, push on Ryan’s shoulders, push _back_.

 The kiss breaks and Ryan is breathless, confused, as he feels Shane’s head shake more than sees it, “Nuh-uh. No. Nope. This…this isn’t a good idea, little guy.”

“Is it because you’re a demon? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya…that isn’t a newsflash.”

“Ryan…”

“You keep tossing it out like it’s-? Like it’s a deterrent? And it just-? It isn’t,” Ryan insists but Shane seems unconvinced as he ducks out from where Ryan has him caged in. He circles back around him slowly, puts space between them so now Ryan’s back is up against the pool table, Shane’s back closer to the exit, “It should be. You forget all about your opinion on demons? Hatin’ them and all…”

“I’ve grown to like a few,” Ryan counters and Shane lets out a huff that he supposes passes for a laugh, “Kill a few too.”

“Just one,” is Ryan’s counter, although his eyes do light over the folder on the ground, “Soon to be two.”

“And more?”

He shrugs, “Whatever it takes to get the job done.”

“Yeeeeeah,” Shane draws out the word, one hand scratching the right side of his face, “And see, right there? Mood killer. Hell, I wasn’t even in the mood to begin with.”

Ryan crosses his arms and regards Shane shrewdly, “You asking for a little push? Something like a sexual semaphore?”  

“That’s a ten-dollar word.”

“Nah, think it costs more than that,” he grins and Shane just shakes his head, clearly fighting off amusement, “Besides, you’re a lil’ mixed up. I’d need a _stimulant_ – not a semaphore. Semaphore is a signal and buddy; your signals are pretty damn clear.”

“So, you need something to…what? Get the juices flowing?” Ryan hops back up on to the pool table, legs dangling a little and, okay, it’s a bit annoying to know that if Shane did the same thing his feet would easily touch the ground. Still, he’s not focused on that as much as he’s focused on the demon across from him, who looks more and more hesitant as each second passes, “Maybe. But, that’s neither here nor there.”

“No, it totally is. Here, I mean. Especially since I’m, uh, y’know…”

“What? Ready and raring to go?” Shane asks and then he mumbles something to himself, something Ryan can’t quite catch, so he asks what and Shane lifts his head, talks directly to him instead of to the floor, “Sara said hunters get, ah, _antsy_. When it comes to their job. That after…let’s be charitable and call ‘em ‘missions’, they get…good to go. Seems like you’re up for it before OR after.”

“Probably both,” Ryan teases but, okay, that actually makes a lot of sense. He doesn’t want to admit it to Shane but…yeah. He, well…he _had_ been feeling a bit horny after taking out Ziggy. Horny and high and while he knew it wasn’t right, he couldn’t contain the feelings either. They’d exploded right through him like rampant fireworks and seeing the notes on Charlie…

…but…Charlie looks so _human_ too…

Ryan shifts about uncomfortably on the pool table and finds his satchel digging awkwardly into his thigh. He unclips it and, once in hand, a rather naughty thought occurs to him. He looks to Shane and waggles the satchel at him, “Might be I’ve got the answer to your lil’ problem in here.”

“You’ve seen it. It’s anything but ‘lil’,” Shane can’t help but retort and Ryan just laughs as he reaches inside, “Just saying, I really do think we should do this. It’s like the first time we kissed. It’s something that just…? It’s hanging over us, man. It’s like this axe that’s waiting to drop…”

“Oh wow, the way you talk…” Shane fans himself, tone beyond sarcastic, “Getting me so hot already…”

“Shut up! I’m just-! I’m saying, like with the kiss, it’s something we both want and should face head on. I mean, it was only a couple of days ago that you were practically gagging for it.”

“I wasn’t _gagging_ for it! Christ, your pillow talk needs some work! If anything I’m about the last thing from turned on right now! Especially with you bringing that shit up! Or did you _not_ know that the Inn charged me an insane amount for that ruined mattress?”

It’s probably beyond rude and dismissive to roll his eyes, but Ryan does anyway, “I didn’t know it. But I’d think the pay off was more than worth the hit to your wallet.”

“Why? Because I got off?” this gets a strange smirk, “Is that your plan, Ry? Back with the kiss, you joked about how we should pretend we were just filming a bit for Buzzfeed. That what we’re doing this go ‘round? Making a Buxxxfeed video?”

“A-?” His huff of laughter is clearly infectious, Shane’s smirk becoming more genuine, “Let me guess, that has three X’s in it?”

“Of course,” is returned so amiably that Ryan rolls his eyes again but this time with pure affection, “You’re such an idiot.”

“Says the guy who wants to do some pervy off shoot, all puns intended, channel.”

“I-I don’t-!”

“Bet you’d get even more swooning Boogaras. Hell, bet half of ‘em don’t even really believe in ghosts. Probably just believe in the power of your biceps.”

“They-? I’m-?!” Ryan wonders if he’ll ever be able to complete a sentence again, hanging as he is between absolute exasperation, fondness, and humor. Shane, for his part, looks ecstatic, “You got a jersey in that kangaroo pouch of yours? Whip one of those on and we can do some classic, grade A stuff. Like, I can be your pool coach–” he gestures to the table, “–talking you through the big game and then you get all worked up so, in order to calm you down, I have to put the moves on you and then we do unspeakable things in front of salads.”

“Oh-ho-my god!” Ryan draws out laughing and he doesn’t even know where to start with everything Shane’s just laid out. There’s a plethora of great replies going through his mind when he takes his hand out of his satchel and, okay, here’s the thing – he was just going to wave his hands about. Or something. Ryan doesn’t even really know to be honest.

It’s just...he talks with his hands sometimes. So, he was going to do that when he drew his hand out of the satchel just absent-mindedly and threw what he had in his grip across the room towards Shane. To be honest, he didn’t even know there was anything _in_ his hand. Not until it went flying and smacked Shane smartly in the chest and oh, no. No, no, no…that…that can’t possibly be what he thinks it is…

…Shane reaches down, picks it up, and it _is_.

It _is_ a string of anal beads.

“Well, well, well – what have we here?”

Ryan feels his mouth drop open. Actually _feels_ it drop open. It _drops_. Like something straight out of Looney Tunes. His mouth drops, his eyes go wide and Shane looks every inch the demon as he waggles the beads at him and says oh, so sweetly, oh, so chastisingly, “Oh, _Ryan_.”

“I-I was just-! I was reaching in here thinking about sex and they just popped ou-yeah, shutting up now,” the toss-up between sheer embarrassment and flat out hilarity is a tenuous tightrope to walk but somehow Ryan’s on it. Shane is firmly lost in hilarity, laughing so hard it looks like he’s about to break something. Ryan’s only ever seen him lose it like this once or twice, but it’s always a delight.

Shane’s whole demeanor lights up, attractive wrinkles forming around his eyes and he just looks…stupidly attractive. Slim shoulders twitching as he quails under the force of his own wheezing laughter, “Th-that’s some impressive foot-in-mouth there, Ryan. Top-top shelf stuff!”

Ryan can only shrug because, yeah, he knows. Honestly, he really didn’t intend to put it so baldly. But then, he also didn’t intend to chuck anal beads at his co-host either. Ryan feels like he should be a lot better at seduction than this. In fact, he _knows_ he’s better at seduction than this. But Shane looks so damned happy he could care less, “Quin-Quinta did say you-you were obsessed with butt stuff, so…”

“I’m not-she didn’t-!” he argues, words running together even as Shane holds up the beads, “But I wasn’t quite expecting _this_ level!”

“Oh! Like _you_ haven’t done worse, you Chupacabra-fucker!”

“I’ll have you know our evening together was very tame. Totally vanilla. Not-not sure I’m ready for this-this rocky road with you,” Shane shakes the beads once more before tossing them back in Ryan’s direction. Ryan catches them easily and wishes for a moment he wasn’t so athletically inclined. The catch was reflexive – like going for a basketball. And these are most certainly _not_ a basketball.

He shoves them back into the satchel even as Shane eyes him, “What else you got in there, huh? What else can your wicked noodle cook up?”

Ryan’s hand is still inside the satchel even as he shoots him a look, “I’ve already told you, the satchel isn’t like this room. I can’t just…just think up anything and draw it out. It’s all pre-packaged stuff and most of this stuff came via Judy since she’s apparently like, a succubus or something.”

Shane chews on the inside of one cheek, “Eh, don’t think so. I’ve met plenty of sucubi in my time – Judy doesn’t quite fit the bill. Although,” he twists about on his feet and looks thoughtful, “I do wonder if she managed to top that last gift she gave us. Wonder if that’s even possible.”

“If what’s even possible?”

“Ryan,” Shane’s voice is annoyingly chiding again and Ryan has concluded that now, not only are they _not_ going to have sex, but that he’s going to pop this insufferable dick right in his smart-alecky mouth, “How could you forget that Judy give us the world’s biggest dildo?”

“Psh, it wasn’t _that_ big,” he returns off handedly and Shane’s eyes have taken on a distinctive glint. One that makes Ryan swallow thickly and shift about on the pool table again, “What?”

“Ryan,” Shane repeats his name but this time his voice is soft, deceptive, alluring, “Have you ever taken anything that big?”

The question makes him sit up, makes something zip straight up his spine, “I, ah…?”

Shane’s normally placid expression becomes sharp, bright, _hungry_ , “You _have_ , haven’t you?”

“I,” the sound of his own swallow, his heartbeat, pounds in his ears, deafens him, “I might’ve…”

“…go on.” Shane purrs. He fucking _purrs_ it.

“I was-was searching for you. You…you know…for a long time,” Ryan rubs at the back of his neck, avoids the demon’s eyes, “Lots of traveling. Lots of tension. I was worried and anxious and angry and, what, with the-the bad dreams I…? I-I might’ve taken some things with me. Might’ve, ah, packed that.”

“You got it out of my car?”

Ryan nods, eyes still looking away, “Yup. One of…one of the first things I did was search for clues. I wanted to try and get an idea of where you might go. What you might do. So I…I searched your desk at work, your place, and ah, your car…”

There’s no response from Shane and Ryan is still a little too shy, a little too embarrassed, to look up, so he continues his confession, “And I-I found that stupid thing in the backseat. I’d forgotten all about it. Don’t…don’t even know why I grabbed it, to be honest. Why I took it. Guess I thought, I dunno,” he gives a one shoulder shrug, lips twitching because he feels stupid and silly, “Maybe that would snap you out of it. Like-like a joke. Like you’d see it and-? I don’t know! Christ!”

The hand that had been rubbing at the back of his neck moves up, plays with the long, dark, messy strands of hair at the back of his head and boy, does he need a haircut, “My head was in a fucked up place then. Shit, it’s probably in a fucked up place _now_. Like you’ve been saying, what with…” his eyes light over the folder but then Shane speaks and his tone is low, deep, “No.”

Ryan looks up and…oh.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Shane looks…? Ryan’s seen this expression before and his mind flashes right back to the Inn. Right back to the ruined mattress. Shane’s…aroused. Well, he did ask for a stimulant, didn’t he? Obviously, this is one and Ryan forgets all about the folder as Shane edges closer, “Not that. Forget that. Go on.”

“Go…?”

“Tell me,” is asked, _begged_ , in such a timbre as to make Ryan’s pulse skip, skitter. He feels like his eyes are glazing over with heat, face on fire as he whispers, “Is this what you want?”

Confidence grows as Shane gives a curt nod and yes, this is only fair, isn’t it? Ryan pried and prodded until Shane told him about his quickening. He’d made Shane break and tell him such wonderful, delicious, dirty, sinful things. Things that had almost led to their first kiss. Things that had opened Ryan’s eyes to the possibility of them in the first place.

Ryan was into it then. Why should Shane be any different now? Ryan leans back on the pool table some, makes sure to show off his body, the full length of it. The muscles in his arms, his thighs. He feels warmth pooling between his legs as he offers a brilliant, white-teethed grin. “Come closer.”

Shane looks as if he can’t move, but also as if he has no choice, no control, over his actions. It’s as if he’s moving through quicksand, his motions slow and labored. He only gets so close before Ryan holds up a hand, halting him. He doesn’t say ‘stop right there’ but he doesn’t have to. Shane does and Ryan picks up again, “I was in Tucson. I missed you by an _hour_. Can you believe that? Just an hour.”

He can hear his breath, hear it shake as he remembers, “It was humid and sort of damp. Weird weather, weird motel. It was gross and old, some dinosaur from the seventies. Probably should’ve been condemned. But it was…oddly comforting. Made me think of you. Of us. Of all the shitty places we’d slept before, hunting for ghosts…”

 _You were like a ghost_ , he thinks for a moment. _You were like a ghost, lost to everyone – lost to me. But I believed in you. I still do_. _But what about you? Do you believe in me_? He doesn’t say any of that. It’s as much a mood killer as the reminder of the broken bed, the folder on Charlie. But he has the thoughts just the same and they lift the insidious heat.

For a moment.

But then he gives back into the will of the story, of his words, his memories of that night, “So I was there and pissed, because I missed you again and I was restless because, well…I just was. And I thought about going for a jog or something, but I didn’t want to be out in that weird, oppressive air so I tried to find something else to do and I was going through my things when I…I found it.”

Ryan wonders how his voice sounds. If its influx has changed. Like his ‘theory’ voice – is that how he’s talking now? He feels like he is. Feel as if it’s sort of rougher, edgier, and he catches a glimpse of Shane and the big guy looks transfixed. Transfixed and eager for more. Ryan does just that, “It was preposterous. All bright neon pink and long. Thick. Could barely wrap my hand around it. But it was…soft. Not as good as the real thing. Could never be _that_ good. But it felt…intriguing.”

“Yeah?” Shane croaks and Ryan finds his hand dipping back into the satchel again, finds himself reaching out with trembling fingers that meet with a familiar plastic bottle. He withdraws the lube with his left hand even as his right starts rubbing at one thigh, the side of his palm barely grazing the bulge that’s starting to form in his jeans, “Do you-? Do you want a-a show and tell?”

“Holy _shit_ , Ryan,” Shane runs a hand through his hair, wavy bits of it sticking out at funny angles as he breathes, “ _Yes_.”

Ryan has to do some finagling, raising his hips, his legs as he unzips and shuffles just enough, just enough to draw his pants down a few inches, to expose his boxers and his dick has already tented the material upwards but he doesn’t draw them back, doesn’t pull himself out. He just prepares himself, rests the tube to one side as he rubs at his thighs some more, his hands sweating.

He can feel the moisture of them as he presses down, presses on his muscles and _squirms_. Are-? Are they really doing this? Is _he_ really doing this? He’s never thought of himself as much of an exhibitionist. Well, at least not sexually. But he also didn’t realize how much of a voyeur he was either, not until Shane and wow, he’s learning more and more about his kinks every time, isn’t he?

Because, yeah – they’re doing this. He’s doing this, “I figured, fuck it. It’ll help me sleep, right? And it’d-it’d been awhile. I mean, yes, we fooled around, but-but having something…someone…inside me?” he shakes his head, “Been awhile.”

“Ho-?” Shane’s voice actually breaks over the word, “How long?”

Ryan starts feasting on his lower lip, fingers digging in, “Too long.”

A sound leaves Shane. A throttled moan. He’s so close, but he’s so far. Too damned far. Ryan wants to order him closer, but doesn’t, instead choosing to torture them both, “Hey? Stay-stay over there, huh? Don’t-don’t move…”

“Ryan…”

“ _Stay_.” Ryan commands and his eyes lock with Shane’s again, varying shades of brown meeting, and as Shane does as he asks, he murmurs, “Good demon.”

“You’re such a _brat_ ,” Shane spits but it’s with this vicious sort of desire and Ryan chuckles, “I’m not finished.”

Shane just inclines his head slightly and Ryan finds his dominant hand rising up, fingers lightly grazing over the material of his boxers, air hissing through his teeth at the feeling, “I stripped everything off and got on that rickety old motel bed with-with the toy and I thought…there’s no way. I can’t do this. Like-like you said I was…I wasn’t even in the mood. Not at all. But I was determined and still thinking of you and then I thought, I remembered… _Jesus_.”

He cups himself, squeezes, “I remembered your _mouth_.”

“My-?”

“On me,” Ryan grates out and he keeps fondling himself, “Your tongue wrapped around me like a silk vice. Fuck! _Shane_!”

His friend’s name comes out hoarsely as he finally reaches beneath his boxers, as he _finally_ touches himself, blessed skin on skin. The head of his cock is already wet, little pearly drops of precome spreading so smoothly, so wetly, beneath his grip as he gives himself one perfect stroke, one fluid pump before his free hand goes for the lube.

It trembles, rises up and takes the bottle, aims low, and he knows Shane probably can’t see much, knows his clothes have to be offering something of an obstacle and Ryan _loves_ that. He loves being a tease. Loves being a brat. Loves being in control, and fuck, he’s probably driving Shane _insane_ and he loves that too.

But most of all, he loves the feeling of his hand on himself as he squirts the lube haphazardly and it’s probably ruining his outfit, but who gives a crap? He’s slick now, slippery, as he tosses aside the bottle and starts working up a rhythm, breath catching even as he hears himself raggedly press on, “I-I got that toy and I-I fucking drenched it and then I…I got my fingers wet and worked myself open. It…it’d been so long. It was… _fuh_ -fuck…it was ha-! H-hard. Hard to-to work muh-myself loose, but I did and I… _Mmmmhm_!”

The last isn’t even a word. It’s not even going anywhere. It’s just an outright _whimper_. It seems impossible to focus now. To tell the story. He’s just…remembering it. The feeling of his fingers from that night as they picked up speed, that moment when he knew he was ready. That moment when he guided the wide tip of that monstrosity into himself and he tries to explain it, to verbally share it with Shane, but it’s so difficult when he’s getting this worked up.

“Tell me _more_ ,” Shane urges and it’s as if he’s asking from another room. Ryan’s eyes are closed and he’s working himself steadily now, hips inching up into his grip with each stroke but Shane asks again, the words colored with desperation, “ _More_ , Ryan. _Please_.”

“I-!” He gasps the vowel, feels like he can’t breathe but he can, he can say more. He _can_ , “I was…I got myself…r-ready but it was still…god,” he gasps, “It was still big. So, so big. I could feel how big and-and it was so good. Good, but I knew…knew I could be-be better. That-that I cuh-could take _more_ …wanted _more_.”

Shane says ‘you’ but it comes out in this strange sob, a sort of ‘you-ah’ and Ryan can only nod, knowing the question Shane can’t manage, “Full…I was-! _God_! It-it fuh-filled me – the-the st-stretch, _burn_ , but-but – still…” he draws himself out fully, exposes himself and Jesus, he’s _touching_ himself.

Shane’s watching him _jerk off_ and his nerves are on tenterhooks, his body lighting up as his head falls back, as bliss jolts all along his face, all along each patch of exposed skin and the sound of his lube-coated hand as he pumps himself is obscene and while it feels great it’s…fuck, just like then - it’s not _enough_.

And he looks up, glazed slits meeting with the overhead lamps above, stars in his eyes, “Still…em-m-pty. Wah-wanted fl-flesh and blood and y-you…fucking Christ, wanted _you_ , Shane!”

“You’ve got me,” Shane husks it against his mouth and yes, thank fuck! Shane’s here now. He’s here and up in his face and Ryan didn’t hear him move, but he doesn’t give a shit because, yes, yes, YES! Shane’s breathes into him, their lips slick-sliding along one another but not kissing as he moans, “Goddamn, you’ve got _all of me_ , Ryan.”

Ryan’s hand stops and he whines as Shane kisses him fully, as their tongues tangle and their hands grip at each other, fingers digging in like claws as they wildly paw at one another. It’s absolutely insane, frantic – Shane pushes Ryan further up on to the pool table, damn near mounting him, their kisses strained, but fierce as they find purchase on the green billiard top.

The table is sturdy - firm, thick wooden legs doing an admirable job of holding up the weight of two grown men clambering all over one another as they get adjusted on it. It creaks some, trembles, but doesn’t falter even when Shane does, just enough to draw back from their kissing to hiss, “You made me _wait_ , Ryan…made me _watch_ …”

“Shane-” Ryan’s about to follow it up with a ‘shut up’ but he doesn’t have the chance, Shane peppering kisses in to cut off Ryan’s words even as he keeps talking, “You’re absolutely infuriating, insufferable…”

His dominate hand finds Ryan’s cock, takes a good hold of it and picks up where Ryan left off, starts sliding up and down the full length with just the right amount of pressure to make Ryan’s vision pixilate, an agonized wail of pleasure leaving him as Shane keeps right on, “…don’t even know, do you? How _gone_ I am for you? Head over heels, over the moon, just-!”

It’s as close as either of them have come to a declaration and Ryan’s heart twists so hard in his chest it _hurts_. Everything in him is revved up, singing, and Shane’s wrist is doing this perfect little twist on each downward stroke and then – oh then, there’s a change.

Ryan feels it, feels Shane’s fingers go…longer, curvier, and he can barely spy them changing color, turning dark, crimson red and the nails go long and _claws_ and shit, shit, shit - _that’s it_. He’s done for. A shrill cry escapes him, open mouth buried against the side of Shane’s throat as his whole body jerks uptight, goes rigid, as his cock starts spurting copious amounts of cum.

The impact of his orgasm strikes right in the center of his gut and he knows he’s being fucking _loud_ and making an ungodly mess, but Christ – he’s too euphoric to care. He’s never felt so goddamn fantastic in all his life and as he starts to feel the afterglow hum over his bones he, well, he laughs.

Or, better to say, _giggles_.

He _giggles_. He’s giggling – funny, strange peals of it and the best part? Shane giggles too. It’s like they're both high as hell, stoned out of their minds, and they just laugh and laugh and kiss and Shane wipes his hands off on Ryan’s already ruined pants before touching his face, combing his fingers through Ryan’s wrecked hair and squeezing and _this_.

This is what Ryan wanted. This is what he fought for. This is what he fractured his _soul_ for. This. Just… _this_.

Shane takes a hold of Ryan’s button up shirt, both hands partially clawed now and tugs hard. Buttons pop and zip around the room even as Ryan lets out a gasp of fake outrage, “Hey! I liked this shirt!”

“Too bad.”

“‘S ruined now,” he does his best bratty pout and Shane just grins, teeth becoming fangs, “Drop in the bucket compared to the mattress.”

“You and that mattress…” Ryan murmurs and at some point (probably when he came his brains out), he sort of sat up and they’re in an odd position on top of the pool table, but not a bad one. With the right amount of finagling, Ryan knows they can strip everything off and he can get his legs up and around him and, and – God, he’s never wanted to be fucked so badly in his whole life. He hadn’t been lying to Shane earlier.

Empty. He’s felt so empty. He _is_ empty and this – surely this will fill him up, make him whole, and he wants – _needs_ – Shane inside of him. Needs it _soon_ and he doesn’t care how they do it or where they do it or what it takes to adjust themselves into the right positions _to_ do it, so long as if happens and _fast_. But then, as if to mock him, Shane lets out a particularly sharp groan and draws back.

The groan…it isn’t a good one. Certainly not one that sounds conducive to sex and Shane’s head lowers, shoulders jerking as he huffs, “Wait, wait! Ryan, stop! Stop, stop, stop!”

Ryan does. Instantly. His good mood flees, worry taking over, “Hey, hey – what’s wrong, pal?”

“I’m… _shit_!” Shane reaches up with his left hand, squeezes at his eyes and his fingers are fully claws now. They don’t cut into his flesh, but it’s troubling to watch regardless. More so when Ryan hears a loud crunching sound to his right and turns to see Shane’s hand rake into the table. The green material tears, chunks of wood splintering around Shane’s claws as they drag down, as they dig _deep_.

“Shane…?” Ryan questions, swallowing, and when he looks at his friend again his eyes are pitch black, sweat beading on his forehead as he moans, “I’m – _fuck_ , Ryan, I-I duh-don’t believe it, buh-but somehow I’m…I’m–I’m quickening.”

 

+

 

This is impossible.

It’s _beyond_ impossible. It’s some new word, some new descriptor that hasn’t been invented yet, because this…this can’t be happening. He’s not in the throes of demonic adolescence, they’re not bonded – there’s no reason, no way, this is happening. Yes, he’d felt the thrumming tick in his blood, the rise in pressure and the low, hot liquid pull in his stomach, but he’d dismissed them. He’d been sure they were just normal reactions to Ryan fucking tempting the shit out of him.

He’ll cherish the sight of Ryan getting off in front of him, of keeping Shane at bay with just a few choice words, forever. It had been past perfect – it had been so them. That first time they’d fooled around, it had been so bizarrely quiet. They’d been too focused on kissing and touching one another to do their normal thing. The second time, Ryan had been a little shit, but it had still been rather temperate – Shane taking himself in hand while Ryan watched.

This time? This time had been so very _them_.

Ryan telling a story, his voice husky and low and mesmerizing. Ryan playing the part of the galling punk to the tenth degree, throwing Shane’s back up so much that he just wants to shut that smart mouth up. Or, better yet, stuff it so full it can’t speak. But there had been speaking, talking, banter – the cornerstones of what makes them _them_ added with the new spice of their evolving relationship.

It had been right on the money, past the lack of penetration and so he’d ignored the telltale signs. The breathlessness, the fire under his skin – hell, he’d even ignored the slow loss of control over his very _shape_. His claws had come unbidden, fangs too and he’d simply ignored it, pushed it off as whatever because, hey, they were fooling around – what did he care?

But once Ryan had cum, once they’d laughed and kissed, once it became clear that Ryan was ready for more – _wanted_ more – the truth hit him over the head like a hammer. Quickening. He’s going into one. It’s unmistakable, undeniable and unbelievable, but it’s here. The signs have all been there and it’s growing harder and harder to keep on the mask of his false humanity.

His horns are pushing their way out, tail peeking through his clothes and he thanks everything below that he coated these clothes in unstable molecular softener because once he uncovered this jacket he remembered how much he liked it and his wings – they’re trying to push their way out too.

His other hand falls to one side of Ryan, digs into the wood of the pool table like it’s twin and dammit – he hates ruining this table, hates that his wings are minutes away from jutting out and knocking at the low hanging lights above their heads and honestly he’s amazed he’s avoiding them for this long and shit, focus, _focus_ – he needs to focus before he totally looses himself to the haze of a full on quickening.

Before he starts thinking about how Ryan’s _under_ him. Under him and _willing_ and he’s cum once and Shane can make him cum _again_. And again and again and-!

“A-are you okay?” Ryan asks softly, “Does-? Does it hurt or-?”

Shane just shakes his head weakly as his friend continues, “I-? I mean, we only talked about it briefly. Know it’s-? Sort of like heat and you jacked off to me a ton and-?”

“‘S more than that,” Shane slurs, wanting to argue the whole ‘jacked off to Ryan a ton’ comment but is unable, his arms shaking, and Ryan is warm and pliant and it would only take a few seconds for Shane to strip him bare, to bury himself balls deep and have him begging, _pleading_ – shit, fuck, shit! “I, I, I don’t know why I’m-? Muh-maybe ‘ca-‘cause of the shared soul? I-I don’t-?”

“Is-? Is it…bad? Will you hurt me?”

Shane shakes a second time, eyes closing as he tries to focus, tries to stay sane.

“If…if I ask you to stop…will you?”

“Ruh-Ry…wh-what are you-?”

“Yes or no?” Ryan asks it with such authority, such power, that it only stokes Shane’s arousal, “If I asked you to stop – if I didn’t like it, at any point – are you capable of controlling yourself?”

“You,” Shane exhales, “ _You_ can control me. If you asked…if you _ordered_ …I…I could do it. I could stop.”

Ryan seems to think for a moment, only a moment, before he gives a solid nod, “Okay.”

“O-?” Shane can’t even repeat that sentiment, too lost for words as Ryan just looks even more determined, “Let’s keep going.”

“Ryan,” Shane says it in a way that he hopes suggests how ridiculous that is, but Ryan’s resolute, “We started this, we’ll finish it. It’s like I said earlier – you want to, I want to – this is a long time coming and if we’re both consenting…”

“Ryan,” he tries again but it’s so _weak_.

“I’m cognizant enough to make an adult decision and, quickening aside, if you are too…”

“I am–”

“Then we’re fine,” Ryan cuts him off before he can argue further and well…

…well.

They _are_ both adults. And he _can_ stop if needed. He’s not a complete animal – being a demon aside. And if Ryan wants to, well…

“Promise me,” he intones firmly, seriously, more seriously than he’s ever been with Ryan, “Promise me if you-if you don’t like something, you’ll tell me to stop.”

“I will,” is his response, but it comes across as insincere to Shane’s thinking, “Ryan…”

“I will!”

Shane looks all around him, “You didn’t-didn’t cross your fingers behind your back, did you?”

“What? You want my scout’s honor? A blood pact?”

And, okay, Shane can’t blame Ryan for that one, but…Ryan can be a tricky little asshole when he wants to be. He takes on a lot more than he should have to. A lot more. Shane’s seen it – seen Ryan push himself to the brink more than once. Usually it’s for work – long, long hours, less sleep. Pushing and pushing and pushing himself. And he says he enjoys it, but Shane knows when the little guy’s had enough – and when he has, he won’t stop.

He’ll go that extra mile, work past his endurance – past any normal human endurance. And he’ll do it all for what he cares about. And Shane knows Ryan cares about him. Christ – they should really just say the stupid ‘I love you’s’. The way they’re futzing around the phrase is just-!

A bolt of heat steals his breath. He’s getting side tracked. Can’t have that. Not now. Not when he’s so close. He hasn’t fallen over the quickening cliff just yet, but he’s toeing along the edge, and he bobs his head, “Okay, okay. Just…just hold on to me. Wanna try something.”

“You want to-?”

“Hold me,” Shane repeats in a rasp, “And close your eyes.”

“Cl-?” Ryan stops repeating everything Shane says when he’s shot a look that clearly announces it’s stupid for him to do so. But he still looks unsure enough that Shane can only ask, “Trust me?”

And now Shane’s getting the face that says it’s stupid to do something, to even _ask_ , and Ryan’s arms wrap around him tight, face burying back into the side of his neck, eyes shut. Shane holds him and feels himself…disperse.

He’s never, ever done this before. Never even thought to try. But…with having half of Ryan’s soul, with Ryan being so intrinsically tied to him, he wonders…

And as he fades into the shadows, Ryan goes _with_ him. Ryan dissipates into the shadows and Shane ushers them from the pool table and across the room, he creeps them along within the darkness until they reach the murphy bed. His tail materializes just enough to push the knobs, to lower the bed before he gently eases them up and over.

Once on the mattress he solidifies their forms, draws them from the shadows and into the light, makes them back into flesh and blood – whole. Once he’s assured that everything’s as it should be, he murmurs, “Open your eyes.”

Ryan does and he looks around with furrowed brows, “Um, Shane?”

“Yeah?”

“How did we get here? We-? We were on the pool table…”

He looks back at the table as if it will supply the answer. As if looking at it will textualize how they ended up from one place to the other. Shane sucks at his teeth, “I, um, I sort of transported us here.”

“You…?”

“Remember how I told you I can travel through shadows? Well…”

“B-but I-? I’ve never-? I can’t-!” Ryan’s brain is clearly breaking so Shane shrugs, “Just chalk it up to wibbly wobbly supernaturally stuff and move on.”

Ryan rapidly blinks and it’s obvious he wants to refute that, only for him to notice something else, “Also, weren’t you over top of me?”

Shane smirks at their positioning. Ryan’s legs are on either side of him as he sits up on the bed, his hands dancing up Ryan’s back, “Alright, I’ll admit a…little finagling on my part when I brought us over. Might be I’ve imagined this scenario before…liked the idea of you riding me.”

“Oh really,” Ryan returns saucily, apparently willing to actually let the travel thing go. For now at least. Shane’s sure he’s bookmarked it for another time. He’s sure, later, he will have to answer about a million questions. But, for now, Ryan seems okay with returning his attention to the task at hand (thank god) and Shane just nods, “Yup. So, giddy up, cowboy!”

“Okay, that’s just…” Ryan trails off in exasperation even as Shane wheezes to himself. He shakes his head even as he starts gently tipping Ryan backwards and on to his back, “But first…”

Ryan’s ‘what are you-?’ is lost within Shane’s own words, “You need to finish what you started.”

His friend looks confused, even as Shane starts gently tugging off his wrecked jeans and boxers, eyes wandering up the whole length of him, “You were telling a story…doing a show and tell…”

With the bottom half of his clothing gone, Shane can see the blush Ryan has is full bodied. It sets his fangs on edge, lightning bolts of pure heat zig-zagging through his entire nervous system and oh, his quickening…it’s so _close_ , “…last we left our intrepid hero, he was toying around-”

“ _Another_ pun?”

“You betcha,” Ryan snorts even as Shane continues as if uninterrupted, “-and he was wishing for something more. But how can he have something more, Ryan, when he’s not prepared?”

“I _was_ prepared!”

Shane’s eyes cast to the heavens even as starts working on Ryan’s shirt and Ryan helps, sitting up enough so they can tug it off. Once removed, Shane balls it up, runs it along Ryan’s extremities to clean him up despite the protests, which he overrides, “Calm down. Your shirt’s already ruined. What’s a coupla jizz stains going to do? Make it _less_ ruined?”

“You’re such a dick!” Ryan barks with a laugh and Shane just gives him a sweet smile, “Backing it up some – I was implying that you’re not prepared _now_ , Ryan. If you want something more, well then, you’re gonna have to take care of that, aren’t you?”

This wipes away Ryan’s grin, lust returning full force, “You want me to-to prep myself? Let you watch?”

A single nod, “If you would, please.”

“I-I left the lube on the-?” Before Ryan can even get out ‘pool table’ something plops down on the blanket next to his left hand. He looks at the bottle with some surprise, “Uh? Did you bring-?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Shane manages another nonchalant shrug even while his own pulse jumps and not from the quickening. He tries to sound cool, “Did something like that before. One time. Last quickening. Sort of, ah, magicked it over.”

“Wait,” Lust is easily replaced by excitement, “Are you saying you have telekinesis?!”

“I’m not ‘Carrie’ or anything, but…”

“Dude!” Ryan sounds so awed that Shane hates to burst his bubble, “Cool it, Beragara. Like I said – only ever happened once. Last quickening. Must be a quickening-oriented phenomenon. And pretty sure I can only move small things, things I need.”

“So, you-? What? Have like…extra super powers during sexy times? Couldn’t you have just magicked our clothes off then?”

“Remember earlier when were talking about things that take us out of the mood?” Shane deadpans, because what Ryan’s suggesting is ludicrous. Ryan, however, gives as good as he gets, “This from the guy who straight faced me about jizz stains.”

“Point taken. How’s about we just…” he picks up the bottle, holds it out to Ryan who nods and takes it. As Ryan coats his fingers, he shyly avoids Shane’s gaze, which is fine with Shane, because he can take in the lovely sight before him. Ryan Steven Bergara – naked. Ryan has such a good body. Muscular, but not overly so. Toasty glowing skin with body hair at just the right ratio and his eyes, his smile, his neck and it’s while gliding over the strong tendons there that he notices the black cord.

His fingers have shifted from fully clawed, to partially, to human and back again more times than he can count. Right now they’re a bit more manageable, certainly okay enough to bring towards Ryan’s neck as he tucks his left middle and index claws beneath the cord, drawing it up slightly. He’s just about to ask what it is when the white crystal tumbles forward and he feels it.

Energy. Demonic energy. Smited energy.

It’s power travels up his arm, settles into his chest and he draws his claws back as if burned. _Oh, Ryan_ …

“…you hear me?”

Shane blinks and looks to see Ryan’s eyes have found his again. He looks…vulnerable. Unsure. Wanting. And his quickening is still in the wings…

…he should pump the brakes on this, shouldn’t he? He should ask about the crystal and about the hunt and everything else, but the look Ryan’s giving him…

He closes his eyes and breathes deep. He makes up his mind.

No.

No, he’s not going to stop this. He’s not going to get sidetracked by a potential argument. It’s like when Ryan looked over at the folder for Charlie. Shane drew him back from that. He can draw himself back from this. Because right now, this moment, what they’re doing – it’s for them. It’s important. Like Ryan said, it’s something they’ve been waiting for, longing for. And Ryan is beneath him, warm and sweet and waiting and Shane opens his eyes, “Sorry. I do now.”

“Wh-where’d you go just then?”

Shane just hums and Ryan licks his lips, “Is-? Is it the quickening? Mean, what little you did describe sorta, ah, made it seem-?”

“I’m not a mindless rutting beast,” Shane promises, then winks, “Not yet.”

Ryan’s swallow is so visible his whole body moves with it. Shane looks at Ryan’s wet fingers, the ones floating just between his legs and oh, yes, those legs are _spread_ , “You need help getting adjusted?”

“Uh, yeah, maybe?” Ryan shifts and lifts and Shane helps, he props a couple of the smaller pillows beneath his lower back and they arrange themselves so Shane can get the best show possible, Ryan’s knees coming up as he whispers, “This is-? I’m, um…”

“Don’t be nervous,” Shane murmurs and offers him a comforting kiss, “I want to see.”

“I-I know…”

“Ryan, if you really don’t want to, if you’re uncomfortable…”

“No,” Ryan breathes, shaking his head, “No. Just…just give me a…”

The ‘a’ draws out to a soft ‘ahhh’ as his fingers dip even farther down, they ease between his ass cheeks, one slender digit slowly teasing at his entrance and he lets out a huff, a whimper. Shane’s whole body tightens and yeah, his horns emerge. It’d be kind of funny, them sliding out at the sight of this, but Shane’s a little too distracted by how goddamn hot all of this is.

The sight of Ryan carefully, gently, scissoring his fingers in and out of his body. Ryan lets out another sound - part distress, part pleasure and Shane gently shushes him, kisses at one of his knees, rubs one palm comfortingly along his abs even as he does his best to keep the tips of his claws up and away from his flesh. Flesh that quivers under his touch as Ryan pushes deeper. He started with the one finger, the other sort of helping, but now both have entered.

They slide - smooth and slick - within the hot channel of his body and Ryan’s head tips back as he moans. It’s a rich moan, a _loud_ one. Shane feels sweat bead on his forehead and he Just. Keeps. Watching. Watching as Ryan’s body stretches, as it accommodates, grows more open and he rocks down a little, moves his hips against the intrusion.

His fingers pick up in pace as it becomes…easier. A third joins in and the tendons on Ryan’s throat stand out, crystal resting right on the hollow of his throat as he gasps, “ _Shane_.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m here, buddy,” Shane says and wants to punch himself right in the face, because who the fuck says that when they’re seeing _this_?! But Ryan doesn’t seem fazed, just whimpering again, before he manages, “Am I doin’ a guh-good job?”

“Great job, baby,” Shane vows fiercely, his lips placing another gentle kiss on Ryan’s knee before he angles up, kissing his forehead, “Doing so well, getting yourself ready for me. Such a good boy.”

“Ha,” it’s a breath and a laugh and his _arms_ , Jesus, Shane notices Ryan’s _arms_ as he fucks himself. Muscles corded as he works his hand, his fingers, and he’s so distracted by it he almost misses, “Th-thanks, daddy.”

It’s part jest and part…not. They’ve joked about this before, danced around it, but now? Now Shane feels the full, first lash of his quickening as he growls and Ryan keens, responds to it. Ryan responds to the inhuman sound within Shane’s chest that easily reveals he’s a demon and there’s a thread of fear there, but that kind of fear that dances hand in hand with overwhelming excitement and Ryan opens his eyes, the dark of them glittering as he asks, “Am-mm-am I r-ready enoug-?”

“Are you?” and Shane doesn’t recognize the sound of his own voice. It’s guttural and raw and Ryan keens again, nodding, as his fingers leave his body so fast. That’s not what he wants. He doesn’t want his fingers. That’s not what Ryan wants fucking him, filling him. Shane knows that’s not what he wants.

Ryan wants _him_. He wants _Shane_. Thinking is getting harder and harder with each passing second and Shane rises from the bed, practically robotic in his motions as he strips his clothing off. Each piece thumps softly to the floor before he climbs back onto the bed, just as naked as Ryan, his cock jutting out proudly as he reorients himself into the right position.

He takes the lube and coats himself quickly, neatly. He’s hardly cognizant of the feeling of his own hand on himself, lost as he is to the swells of his quickening. It’s all perfunctory. Necessary. It’s all a means to an end and Ryan’s rising up, but not fast enough.

Shane finishes getting himself prepped and takes a hold of him, effortlessly drawing Ryan up, pulling him on to his lap and he’s not inside him yet, but he _has_ to be, and he has to be _soon_. His wings, tail, pointed ears, horns, claws, black eyes – all are present and accounted for. Parts of his skin are tinted crimson, but it hasn’t taken his whole body yet.

Yet.

His forked tongue flicks against his sharp teeth and Ryan – Ryan’s looking at him with such…hunger. Hunger and fear and want and terror and exhilaration and it’s clear he’s on an emotional rollercoaster of the highest order, adrenaline running like a freight train even as he’s practical enough to pant, “Condom?”

Shane’s head shake is severe, “Clean. Went to physician. Woulda told me. You?”

“Good, good,” Ryan returns with vigorous nodding as he arches up, as he tries to sink himself down on Shane’s length by himself. But Shane’s too cautious – he takes a firm yet tender hold of Ryan’s hips and helps. He guides him and then – oh, then. Shane’s inside him. Shane’s inside Ryan. _Inside_. The pinnacle of what all demons desire. He’s inside someone. Inside their body. True, he’s possessed Ryan before, but this is something…different. Better.

His cock is wrapped in the tightest, hottest perfection and Ryan chokes on air, saying something that sounds like ‘ho-o-ly!’ followed immediately by some other indecipherable gibberish. Vowels and consonants crash together as Ryan seats himself fully, as he takes all of Shane in and there’s _a lot_ to take in.

Probably more than Ryan anticipated. Even when seeing it, Shane’s not sure Ryan knew how…extensive it would be. And there’s more. So much more. But Ryan doesn’t know that yet and Shane worries for about two point five seconds about whether or not he should try to keep that back when Ryan…moves.

It’s an experimental move. A gentle up/down, a testing of the waters. It’s _fantastic_. Shane feels like he’s going to go cross eyed as all that heat and tightness around him _moves_. A hushed ‘fuck’ escapes his lips as his claws involuntarily flex on Ryan's hips. The tiny, sharp tips of his fingernails bite gently at sensitive skin and Ryan lets out a hiss, but doesn’t stop him. If anything his brow furrows and he looks…well, kind of into it.

And thoughtful. Thoughtful enough to do the motion again and _Christ_ , he’s doing exactly what Shane wanted. So much so that Shane can’t help but mumble against his collarbone, “Mmm…yeah.”

“Yeah?” Ryan teases, clearly amused by this sort of cheap porno talk but hey, it can’t be helped. Not by Shane and, obviously, not by Ryan either, who manages another strained ‘yeah’ as he moves again, still tentative, still awkward, and they haven’t built a rhythm just yet but it’s coming…it’s coming...

They’re learning one another, figuring out exactly how they fit together and that’s good. Shane knows that’s good. That it’s good they take this slow, that it’s good they take their time, but when Ryan moves again – when he undulates his body, rising above him and then down once more, accepting his length so willingly, the next lash of heat hits.

It’s _unbearable_. Shane closes his eyes tight, concentrates as hard as he can, tries to stay in the moment. Even as his claws grow sharper, even as his fangs and horns become longer, even as his wings _expand_. He tries not to lose himself as his quickening begins electrifying his nervous system. Ryan lets out a trembling breath as he really starts finding his stride.

He rises and falls in rapid succession, riding him and god, Jesus, _fuck_ – Ryan is _riding_ Shane. And Shane guides his movements, making their rocky tempo grow more fluid, more classic, and Ryan’s panting, gripping Shane’s hair and tipping his face up so that their lips can meet, open and wet, not quite kissing just – breathing.

Air is shared between them – damp and heavy and their lips rock against one another as much as their bodies do. They’re both hot, slick, as they melt into each other, and the space around them fills with the delicious, lewd sounds of slapping skin and Shane quivers, his head falling forward under the weight of it all as he _sobs_ , “ _Ryan_.”

Ryan makes a winded, whimpering sound of acknowledgement and Shane hears his voice breaking with each word, “Ryan, I can’t-! _I can’t_ -! I can’t hold back anymore…”

“Then _don’t_ ,” Ryan growls and kisses him fiercely before drawing back to look him directly in the eyes, “Give it to me. Give me _all_ of it. I can take it.”

The last, a shaky vow, is what finally does him in and – for the first time – Shane let’s himself go. He loses himself. He’s never done this before. In all his years and years of existence, he’s never lost himself completely. Never let himself be swept away, much less by a quickening, but here he is. Letting go.

For Ryan, he lets go.

 

 

+

 

Okay, so – here’s the thing.

Ryan’s…kind of a size-queen?

Like, it’s not something he gives a whole lot of thought to, but – well, it’s just – if you’re going to take it, you might as well go all out, right? And the _feel_ of it. Of being stretched open, pounded, used – Ryan likes that. He hasn’t had many same sex encounters, but the ones he has had he’s found himself enjoying the taking more than the giving.

Not that he doesn’t like to give. He does! Oh boy, does he! But there’s something to be said for having your body thoroughly and utterly wrecked. And a nicely sized dick is rather instrumental to that. As is a sort of topping-from-the-bottom mentality. Asking for it – no, better to say – ordering for it. Being in charge, even while begging for more, taking more, taking it _all_ , and that’s what Ryan enjoys, so this shouldn’t be a surprise but, it’s just – _holy fuck_.

The moment Shane lets loose – he just… _lets loose_. Ryan swore he wasn’t the one to make the bed, to make the mirror above it, but whether or not he’ll ever admit to that, he can’t help but enjoy both now – the mirror in particular, as it provides a gorgeous illustration.

Shane’s pale skin turning bright red all over – every inch the stereotypical devil yet perfect, fuck, fuck – _so_ perfect because it looks so foreign against Ryan’s own skin and then Ryan chokes back a scream as Shane – ah –  _swells_.

Shane has a rather big dick to begin with, but as the quickening settles in it-? It seems to _double_ in size. It grows thicker, larger – and Ryan can _feel_ it. Can feel his inner walls spreading under the change and he can’t help but fucking writhe on the man’s lap because-because-!

There is no ‘because’. He feels like his mind is shattering and a goddamn _wail_ is wrenched from his throat as Shane’s claws move from his hips to prick at his ass, urge him to continue his motions and he does, because Christ if he can do anything else.

And Shane is _watching_ him. Bottomless black eyes just taking him in as he rides him and Ryan’s arms are locked around Shane’s neck, muscles straining as he shudders with pleasure, with shame, with pain, and with sheer, sheer happiness.

Ryan’s on an emotional journey as much as a sexual one and then Shane’s wings move - make sound - and Ryan’s head falls back, teeth feasting on his bottom lip and all he can think is _yes, yes, oh god – yes_! The wings move and then Ryan finds himself drawn up, man handled –  between one heartbeat to the next he finds himself on his back, legs splayed and he’s taking every inch of Shane’s cock.

He can see it above him – see it in the mirror. See Shane pistoning in and out. See the dark, intimate place where their bodies connect and he can’t take much more. It’s all too much and not enough and he tries gripping at Shane’s ass, tries to see if digging his fingernails in works – if it helps him to push him in deeper, harder, faster.

But it’s not enough (goddamn paper ass!) and while it feels good it’s – _Jesus_ – it’s not what he needs, so he releases it and one hand goes for his own cock. It’s full, aching – throbbing as it bobs against his stomach. Plush, leaking head smearing near his belly button and he just gets his fingers around it when Shane’s tail whips out.

The tail wraps around Ryan’s wrist to draw the hand back up and away, while his hand takes the other wrist, raises it up near its twin. Shane’s tail then encases both wrists, ties them together more effectively than any rope, any handcuff. The tail traps Ryan’s wrists above his head, pins them there as Shane speaks – voice pure, demonic growl, “No.”

“Ohhhh,” the moan is plaintive, desperate, and Ryan’s eyes screw up tight because this is nailing every last button he has, “God….”

“No,” Shane returns again and that _voice_. It’s Shane’s, but it’s not. It’s a monster’s voice. A _demon’s_ voice, “Not God. _Me_. Beg _me_ for mercy.”

“ _Shane_ ,” the name comes out whiny and twisted even as Shane keeps moving and everything is shaking – the bed, the mirror, Ryan’s vision – as Shane whispers against his ear, “I promise – you will not get it.”

The clear howl Ryan releases is ear-drum shattering. His cock jerks as he cums; untouched. He came. _Again_. He feels dizzy with that even as Shane continues above him, thrusts erratic, desperate. All finesse lost as he manages, “ _Ryan_.”

Shane sounds ruined and he’s stretched so thin. Ryan didn’t notice before – so lost to his own wants and needs and he feels the part of the selfish, undeserving lover. He’s gotten so much and given so little. And yet he finds, as he curls up some, that he’s going to ask for _more_ as he kisses at Shane’s mouth, licks at his forked tongue and fangs and whimpers, “C’mon, daddy – I told you, I _want_ it.”

“Ryan, baby…”

“Give m’ it,” Ryan slurs in a hot, heady breath, “Give me-!”

The last cuts off on a tight, pleased cry as Shane does as asked. Shane buries his mouth against Ryan’s shoulder as he roars in completion and oh, the _feel_ of it. Ryan lies back and damn near convulses because it’s…indescribable. Phenomenal. Flawless. That hot, liquid rush of being filled, being used, being _fucked_. It’s…everything.

It’s perfect.

It’s _them_.

And Ryan feels himself getting sort of giggly again, ready to tease Shane about the quickening – a sort of, ‘So, that’s it? What’s the big deal?’ kind of joke when he opens his eyes and sees Shane looking at him with a wild, maniac energy that makes his throat spasm and his heart seize.

Doubly so when Shane intones, “Aw, poor baby. You think we’re done?”

And honestly – Ryan really thinks he should question the unbridled _joy_ he feels at those words. He should and he will.

But later.

Much, much later.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminders for guns, gun violence, also a character here makes a wildly inappropriate racial remark, so, be warned for that as well. And a bit more Caps lock. Tried not to be too Caps!Lock!Harry though, for people who'll get that reference...oh, and a bit of a fun dig on Denny's the restaurant for those who know it/have been trapped there

Today we mourn the passing of Ryan Steven Bergara.

Date of death…shit. What day is this? Honestly, he should know the date of his death, right? Because he died. He’s pretty sure he’s dead. As to how he died, well, no self-respecting obituary will publish that. But really, he went out on the highest of high notes, so who gives a shit? He’s peaceful now. Peaceful and floating and wonderfully warm.

The last thing he remembers is Shane’s sweaty weight falling on top of him, red wings extended to their full length, the loveliest of death shrouds. Ryan was consumed in all ways, in all manners, and he’s okay with it. He led a good life and dying of extreme pleasure has to be the best way to go. It’s sort of a ‘Hellraiser’ death, but with less gore and sadomasochism.

That’s what those films were about, weren’t they? It’s been a while, but he seems to recall the whole discussion of hedonism, the boundaries of pleasure and pain and-and…wait, hold on. Why is he giving this so much thought? He’s dead, isn’t he? Why should he care about-?

A low, gurgling rings out and then – _oh_! Watery bubbles start caressing him all over. They roll up his spine, tickle his limbs and his eyes drift open to take in a sea of steam. Where-? The steam parts and Shane’s face comes into view, “Hey.”

Ryan’s first response is only a hum in acknowledgement, his throat sore. He licks his lips and tries again, this time managing speech, “Hey.”

That doesn’t sound like him at all. He sounds… _wrecked_. Shane is in his totally human form and looking equal parts soft and sad, “You finally with me?”

“I’m-?” it comes out so weak and he moves, floats, and his body is starting to feel more substantial. He’s returning from whatever ethereal realm he went to and Shane looks slightly relieved, “Made sure the jets worked.”

He can only offer a questioning noise but Shane gets the gist as he waves around him, flinging some water in the process, “Made a hot tub. Have to have working jets, man.”

Another hum and Ryan’s eyes drift shut. He hears some cursing and while his lids still feel heavy, he cracks them back open, “Relax. Here.”

“You sure? You said that back in the shower too.”

This actually _does_ capture Ryan’s attention, because he doesn’t remember that _at all_ , “Shower?”

“Well, I had to rinse you off first, didn’t I? Couldn’t-couldn’t plop you in this baby the way you were after, ah…”

Ryan’s brow furrows and he makes sure to power through his lethargy, eyes staying open albeit heavy-lidded. After? A series of images – highly pornographic ones – play over in his mind. His back rested against Shane’s front, Shane’s fangs feasting on his shoulder while he bounced up and down on the demon’s massive length and oh, then being on his knees, scrambling for purchase at the covers, the pillows, while a forked tongue plunged inside his hole, probing so fucking deep and then his legs raised over slim shoulders and then-then – begging, pleading for leniency, for respite – but offering his mouth in place of…

He colors so much that he dips half his face beneath the bubbling waters, the temperature of the hot tub somehow _cooler_ than the rest of him. He can slowly feel how naked he is beneath the waves, how – um – he guesses _ravaged_ would be the correct description. His hands hover over his thighs, run up near his sides and he can feel _indents_. Marks from claws and fangs and he’s surprised they don’t hurt. Maybe this hot tub is magic. Most everything around him these days is, so…

Ah, and his back! He can’t see it, but he can _feel_ it. Feel the sort of…itch there. Probably more claw marks and he can just recall Shane using him like a scratching post as he finished him off with one hand, every other part of his body overworked and overused and Shane was still a whimpering, ready-to-go mess who begged him in demonic growls to _claim_ him and Ryan had, reassuring him repeatedly that he was _his_.

 _You’re mine, Shane. Mine. Mine. Mine_. He’d vowed it over and over and Shane had looked so _grateful_. Christ.

Shane is…surprisingly needy. Or maybe he’s just that way when he’s under the throes of a quickening and yeah, now Ryan understands why Shane was so hesitant to share it with him. Hell, Ryan’s so damned sated in the sexual department, he wouldn’t be surprised if he could go for months without. Years even.

He’s had more sex in the past few hours than he thinks he’s ever had in his whole life. He can’t even clearly recall all the positions, the acts, the-the _all_ of it. And god knows Sara was right – _that hip thing_. It’s hard to describe, but it’s a slick as hell move. Bastard probably doesn’t even know he does it. The point remains, though - thinking he died doesn’t seem all that far-fetched. Death by snu snu.

Ryan rises up some, chuckling to himself and at Shane’s expression he explains, “Thinking of Futurama.”

Shane’s eyebrows rise but his lips twitch, “Strange time to think of it.”

“Not if you know what snu snu is.”

He gets an eyeroll for his trouble even as he asks, “So you rinsed me off?”

“Had to. You should’ve seen yourself, man,” Shane’s head tilts to one side and it’s clear then that Ryan should see himself _now_ , “Covered in blood and…uh, other fluids.”

“Blood and other fluids. Band name. Call it,” Ryan jokes even as he looks down to try and get an idea of how he looks and _Jesus_! The water might be rolling, but it’s clear enough that he can make out the bruises. Varying degrees of purple, black, and yellow greet him as does crusts of dried blood and yeesh, Shane really did a number on him.

“I did,” Shane returns with disgust and Ryan blinks, startled to realize he must have said the last aloud. He shakes his head, “It’s no big deal, dude.”

“No big-? Ryan, you look like you were in a massive head on collision! Or a boxing match! Or-or-! Or anything other than-!”

“Snu snu?”

“Stop that!” Shane’s tone is funny, torn as it is between amusement and annoyance. Ryan just raises his hands in surrender (even as his shoulders cry out at the action), “Hey, look, just-just relax, buddy. I was consenting, remember? You-you didn’t do anything I didn’t want. Or regret.”

Shane crosses his arms and looks sullen. Like a kid who’s just been told he has to go sit in the corner or something. In fact, Shane’s pretty much sat himself in the corner as it is – the tub they’re in rather sizeable and Shane as far on the other side of it as humanely possible.

Ryan rests his neck back against the cool, slippery lip of the tub, his eyes on the ceiling as he murmurs, “You still got some ‘Carrie’ in you?”

“Nah, that’s gone. But if you need something, I can go get it.”

“Hmm, satchel?”

“What do you ne-?”

“Gonna stop you right there. You said you’d get something if I needed it. I mean, I could go, but considering my condition…” Ryan feels only slightly bad about guilt tripping Shane, especially since he just spent the last few minutes building him back up but, well, the pain is starting to settle in and he knows what’ll fix it.

His eyes slip shut as he hears the sounds of Shane extricating himself from the water, the wet slap of his feet on the ground as he walks off to retrieve what Ryan needs. He sort of drifts off again, floats. The hazy bite of hurt comes now and again. Along his lower back, his left collarbone, his stomach - places where there are deeper bites, bruises, and scratches (band name number two), but there’s still also this glowing euphoria, this sense of completion and fulfillment that can’t be topped.

He doesn’t even know he’s almost asleep again until he hears a soft ‘thunk’ to one side. His vision is glazed as he opens his eyes once more and the water around him surges as Shane redeposits himself back in the tub. Back in the tub and still far, far from Ryan. Ryan pats at the water to one side of him, a silly invitation to come closer, but an invitation none the less, “Come ‘ere.”

Shane eyes the spot even as he shakes his head, “Shouldn’t.”

“Hey now, where’s my defiant lil’ guy, huh? The smarmy shit who loves doing things he shouldn’t?”

“No, _you’re_ the little guy. _I’m_ the big one. Get it right.”

“Yes, sir, mister demon, sir!” Ryan salutes and internalizes a grimace because a smile goes with the salute and his lips feel just about as sore as everything else does. Still, it’s all worth it as Shane glides closer. Ryan grabs at the satchel and reaches inside. He thinks for only a moment before he feels a large box press into his hand. The opening of the satchel expands as he draws out the rather hefty piece and Shane frowns, “What-?”

“Mal said there were some med kits in here. Automated ones that can fix broken bones and if they can fix that…” he just trails off because what he’s using it for is obvious after that. He pops open the top and a little red cross visualizes before him like a hologram and holy shit, _is_ it a hologram?!

He reaches out to touch it and, sure enough, his fingers pass right through the light. A calming, robotic voice rings out, “Vitals confirmed. Please state designation.”

“Um…Ryan?”

“Hello Um Ryan, welcome to your medical responder,” the red cross expands, waves over Ryan’s whole face and body then zips back into its original form, “Our scans indicate you have (it’s voice actually becomes more robotic) twenty seven contusions, thirteen abrasions, four puncture wounds, and five point one lacerations (it returns to a less robotic voice) these wounds are all at minimal stages and in a current state of healing. To what level would you request current healing accelerated?

Ryan looks to Shane and Shane just looks back. Ryan coughs, “Uh, all of it?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that – to what level would you request your healing accelerated?”

Ryan looks at Shane again but Shane just shrugs. Great. Big help he is. Ryan tries again, “The…? Max level?”

“Max level acceleration of healing process will result in no scars and/or permanent visible marks. Files previously uploaded suggest occupation: hunter. Hunter class often views scars and or other permanent visible marks at varying degrees desirable. As such, recommended acceleration is fifty point seventy seven percent. Do you wish to-?”

“No,” Shane cuts in firmly and he imagines it’s because Ryan was…ah, kind of considering it once the little kit started talking about it, “Max level. Chop, chop Florence Nighting-kit!”

“User unrecognized. This responder will only take requests from designated user Um Ryan.”

The look he gets is so telling there is only one answer to give, although Ryan wouldn’t have minded _one_ cool scar, “Yeah, ah, max level, please.”

“Max level confirmed. We request that any eyes and/or mouths be closed during this procedure. Procedure will take approximately three minutes, forty eight seconds. Would you care to listen to music during your restoration, Um Ryan? This responder can choose songs within that time frame based upon your personal preferences for distractive purposes.”

“Uhhhhh sure?” Ryan returns and just as he’s about to ask whether or not he should get out of the water or something, the box starts vibrating like mad. He practically drops it in the tub, but Shane snatches it up before that can happen and a rainbow of colorful lights shoot out. Ryan quickly closes his eyes, his mouth, and tries his best not to panic as the lights rain down all over him.

Music hums out of the responder and it takes him a long time to recognize it. When he does, it’s hard not to open his mouth in a smile because that song…man, talk about a flashback. How did the box even know? He’s distracted enough by the music and the weird impressions he’s getting on his closed eyelids to almost not notice how he feels…better.

With each passing second, he feels more and more healed. Parts of him that had been achy and sensitive return more to their normal status quo. Maybe even better. The song winds down to its last chords as the light recedes and he wonders if he should risk opening his eyes when he hears, “Restoration complete. This kit has only four more cycles before we ask that you dispose of it. We can list several medical facilities near your current location where we can be recycled sanitarily. Until your next activation we wish you, Um Ryan, a pleasant and healthy continuation!”

The kit snaps neatly shut and Shane hands it back to Ryan who carefully tucks it into the satchel. Shane looks him over and, once satisfied, nods, “Better.”

“Yeah?”

Another nod and then, “The song?”

Ryan’s scratches at the back of his neck as he carefully puts the satchel out of reach of the water, “Never heard of Tom’s Diner?”

“Heard of it. Just surprised that’s what it chose. Doesn’t seem very you.”

“Remember DJ Deadbody?”

“Like I could forget him,” Shane returns with a twinkle in his eye and Ryan chuckles, “Yeah, well, when I was making that video, I tried a lot of different songs for mixing. Tom’s Diner is a popular one to mess with. Also, it’s pretty low key, kinda calming – probably why that was picked.”

Shane’s head tilts thoughtfully to one side, “Wonder what it would pick for me.”

“Pr-probably something with kazoos,” Ryan returns and Shane actually flicks some water at his face, “I’ll have you know the kazoo is a noble instrument.”

Ryan just laughs and flicks some water back and something of a splash war breaks out between them. Once it dies off, Ryan stretches, really enjoying the full luxuries of the tub, “Man! I feel like a million bucks! I tell ya, this is the life!”

He threads his fingers behind his head and lies back, eyes drifting closed one more, “And did you hear the responder? It said my occupation was ‘hunter’? How cool is that?”

There’s no response and the water is still warm, but Ryan can feel the change. The _cooling_. He cracks one eye open and Shane is moving _away_ from him. Ryan can’t help letting out a disgruntled sound as he sits up, eyes fully open, “What.”

It’s not a question so much as an annoyed accusation. Shane doesn’t take the bait. At first. But then he offers a, “What ‘what’?”

“Don’t do that, man. Don’t do that simpering shit. It’s beneath you,” Ryan grumbles, “Look, we already worked all this out.”

“No,” Shane returns grumpily, “We went from talking about it and ‘taking it slow’ to moving so fast we broke the bed! We leapt right over the whole hunter issue and jumped right into the fucking which – while mind blowing – didn’t fix a goddamn thing!”

“We didn’t break the bed!” Ryan returns hotly, then pauses and asks, quite seriously, “Wait? Did we?”

“I might’ve picked a target,” Shane gracefully side steps that question to focus on the bigger issue, “But that doesn’t mean I’m jazzed about the hunting idea. You’re not a hunter, Ryan. You’re a video producer. You work at Buzzfeed-”

Ryan talks over whatever else he’s about to say, “But, but – this? This is _real_ , man! This is the real thing! This isn’t some little segment I string together for some YouTube comments! This is legit, It’s-it’s _better_!”

Shane looks offended. Shane. Ryan didn’t even think Shane was offendable, but right now? He looks beyond livid as he snaps, “What you do for Buzzfeed is a lot more principled than what you’re doing now, which is being Raz’s stooge! Someone dumb enough to agree to-!”

“I am NOT dumb!” Ryan shouts and Shane’s called him dumb before. Called him an idiot, a fool, but this…the way he’s saying it, is very different. It’s not colored with affection. He means the word. Means the insult and just confirms that with, “Oh really? What about the necklace, Ryan?”

Ryan looks down at the little crystal around his neck, finds his hand reflexively going for it while the demon continues, “Yeah, bet your angel buddy gave you that to collect smited energy. You ever think about what he’s going to do with it?”

“I-I don’t-?”

“Of course, you don’t!” Shane snaps, “Because you don’t know what the hell you’re getting yourself into! You’re clutching that thing like Gollum, not giving a second thought to how that can affect you anymore than you gave a second thought to how half a soul would affect you! You keep charging into shit blind, thinking you’re-you’re heroic or-or romantic or some shit when all really you’re doing is-!”

“Romantic?!” Ryan’s outburst covers over whatever else Shane is going to say, beyond livid, as he scrubs at his hair and – oh shit. He’s still in the tub. He’s exposed, “ _Gah_! You’re-! You’re such an asshole! A complete and total asshole! Ruining this and-and fighting with me while I’m _naked_! In a hot _tub_!”

“If you can time travel in one, you can most certainly fight in one!” Is Shane’s quick quip and Ryan has to swallow a laugh because, dammit, he wants to stay _angry_ , “Don’t-! Don’t do that! With the jokes! This is serious!”

“I don’t disagree,” Shane scowls, then, contemplating the water, remarks, “And you’re right. We-we shouldn’t destroy the sanctity of the hot tub with-with all this ugliness,” he waves, “After you.”

Ryan just breathes in loudly as he drags himself out of the water and, once on his feet, recognizes that – anger aside – he feels fucking phenomenal. The responder and tub worked in tandem to make his body feel brand spanking new. Not to mention all the previous night’s (is it night’s?) activities. Too bad Shane’s being such a dick right now or his life would be aces.  Who knows? He might’ve even been up for another round.

But he’ll be damned if he does anything with this long limbed idiot right now. Calling him dumb…

Ryan fumes even as he charges towards some nearby towels. He dries himself off before finding the satchel again. He reaches inside, hoping against hope, and – sure enough – feels some cloth pressing into his hands. He draws out underwear, jeans, socks, a shirt…everything he needs to get fully dressed. He draws on each piece and, as time passes, he finds himself growing angrier and angrier.

And worse, much worse, is the hole inside of him.

It feels as if it’s on _fire_. Growing bigger and heftier, a weight crushing the center of his chest. He’d almost thought it gone. What with the earlier possession, the merging of their selves and then their sexual escapades, it felt as if it had vanished. But now it’s returned with a vengeance, one that stokes his rage.

Dressed and out of the tub, he has better recognition of his surroundings, concluding he’s in the world’s swankiest restroom. A door calls to him and he charges through it to find the recognizable space they created in MA’s. The bar, the pool table, the…holy fuck. He stops dead in his tracks as he takes in the murphy bed because it is, indeed, broken. Smashed.

 He blinks at it, sort of struck by how it looks, even as Shane moves right past him, dressed, and clearly fuming. Ryan’s angry too but…the bed…

Honestly, he’d thought Shane was full of shit, or being overly dramatic, because he doesn’t remember…

But then, the whole ‘real life’ concept is changing for him daily and as Shane digs his colorful jacket out of the chaos of the destroyed murphy bed, Ryan finds the thread of his argument returning, “Look, this is what I was born to do! Hunt ghouls and ghosts and, most of all, demons! I might’ve started off some naïve human – blind like the rest of them – but now my eyes are open and I’m not shutting them for you! I’m not shutting them for anybody! I’m-I’m-I’m-!”

As with most confrontations in his life, Ryan finds himself running out of steam because he’s just – too mad to form anything comprehensible. It’s times like this he misses the bond, because at least then Shane would know _exactly_ what he’s feeling. How angry and disappointed and upset and just – everything. All of it.

“I’m not telling you to do that,” Shane counters, “What I’m saying is-!”

“I _know_ what you’re saying!” Ryan hisses and his words are back, his thoughts clearer as he charges over towards the pool table, over to the spot where the file on Charlie fell. He picks it up, his actions shaky with fury as he thrusts the folder at him, “And you’ve got a choice – you can come with me or not. Take your pick.”

Shane glares daggers at him and for a while he doesn’t answer. So much so that Ryan starts to feel his heart decelerate, starts to feel cold all over. He feels like he’s lost, because Shane is going to say he’s not coming and yeah, Ryan’s pissed, but somehow, he still wants…

But then Shane’s voice just lowers, reaches that resigned, sad tone that parents save for disobedient children as he mutters, “There is no choice. For better or for worse…I’m coming with you.”

 

+

  
Las Vegas.

Of course it would be Las Vegas. Yes, they’re miles from the main strip, but it shines like a jewel in the distance. They exit MA’s main entrance to find themselves on a well-lit street, expensive looking streetlamps highlighting rich, elegant homes and all of this…it just sucks.

Granted, it’s sort of Shane’s fault. Mainly because he was supposed to have a civilized discussion with Ryan, he was supposed to take it slow with him, he was supposed to…well, there were a lot of things he was ‘supposed’ to do. Instead he threw caution to the wind and let his dick do the mental driving and now here they are.

He should’ve argued more, but instead decided to go ahead and go on with this stupid hunting mission, because maybe this is what it’ll take. Ryan’s called his (and Sara’s) bluff with the folder. He’s decided to go ahead and go on the mission. He’s cocky. Confident. And Shane’s seen this before.

Ryan talks a lot of shit, puffs up his chest, plays the strong, tough, dude-bro to the upper limits, but when he’s actually staring down the barrel of harsh reality? Yeah, he wavers. Flight. Not fight. But flight with a very, very stubborn streak. Or, better to say, boneheaded streak.

Ryan decides to do something, he does it – no matter how ill advised. That has to be what this is. Shane’s sure of it. Yeah, Ryan flipped through the folder – hell, he’s skimming it now. But that’s just because that’s how he is. It’s in his very DNA – research, research, investigate.

But facing the actual challenge? That’s a whole different story. Oh, he’ll do it – but he’ll be shaking in his little ghoul-stompers the whole time and Shane’ll be there to pick up the pieces. Shane’ll be there to salvage his pride and to make it all okay. Just like he always does. Just like he always will.

Because, well…

Ryan won’t do this.

He won’t…won’t _kill_ someone.

Ziggy was different. For one thing, Shane wasn’t there and for another, its real name was Zig’drozok, for fuck’s sake. A Lovecraftian nightmare name. This guy goes by Charlie. _Charlie_. Like, Charlie Brown. Charlie Chaplin. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. It’s a cutsie kind of name and yes, alright, this Charlie is far from cutsie.

To be honest, he’s a real piece of work. A true dickhead. But he’s also light years from what Ziggy was. He’s…regular. A punch in the face? Deserved. Good, swift kick to the nards? Warranted. But murder? Smiting? Touch too far. Especially if Ryan’s the one doing it.

Ryan, despite all his bluster and ‘fun’ make believe, is not his silly alter-ego.

He’s not Ricky Goldsworth.

He’s Ryan Bergara.

And Ryan Bergara doesn’t kill.

But Ryan Bergara _does_ follow things through, so, Shane will stick with him. They’ll go on this little adventure, Ryan’ll learn a valuable lesson, and he and Shane can go back to…something. He’s not quite sure what just yet. Their relationship is in its weirdest stage yet, but Shane’s willing to explore it with this idiot. As long as they’re together, as long as they’re ‘the Boys’, that’s all that matters. They’ll make it through. Side by side, hand in hand.

“This ain’t a library, pal. We-we just gonna stand here all night on the sidewalk like a coupla shmucks or-?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just-just give me a minute, Shane. Yeesh,” Ryan mutters as he scans the papers in the folder some more. He flips it closed and slips it into the satchel. As always, it’s fun to watch the Mary Poppins-ish sack open wide as something is slipped into it that shouldn’t fit. The folder disappears and a Go Pro Chest Mount Harness appears.

This is eyed with blatant speculation, “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, man. I always suit up for these sorta things,” Ryan argues as he draws the piece on and Shane scoffs, “Okay, but ‘these sorta things’ are usually us making vids. Not-not going after bad guys,” this gives him pause before he swiftly adds, “You’re not going to film this, are you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ryan snorts, “Look, it-it makes me feel…I don’t know. Safe, I guess.”

Once he has it securely clipped into place, he reaches back into the satchel to draw out an additional piece, “Besides, I got this.”

Now he draws out a holster and Shane’s stomach twists up in knots. The last time he watched Ryan do this, it had been hilarious. A holy water gun holster. He’d out dumbed himself. Now? Now he’s being a real dummy, because this gun is the real deal, not some souped-up kids’ toy. Shane looks away as he attaches it, too upset to witness it, “Yeah, that-that makes me feel _less_ safe.”

“Told you, I’d never use this on you,” he offers as if that’s what Shane’s worried about. As if that’s what makes him feel unsafe. He just shakes his head to himself as Ryan scans the street, “File said he’s hold up in some mansion. 9580 Belview, so…”

Ryan starts walking and Shane reluctantly follows. Ryan looks at the fences, the gates. He checks numbers and soon enough they end up near a very intimidating gate that has fancy gold inlay announcing that it’s 9580 Belview. Black, wrought iron bars rise up high between a long, tall row of bricked gate. A dramatic entrance with only a tiny speaker box out front.

Shane smirks and jerks a thumb at it, “Plan on hitting the buzzer there? Announce the Ghoul Boys have arrived?”

Ryan just shoots him a look and Shane’s smirk grows, “C’mon, Ryan. Give it some fanfare. Maybe he’ll let us in then. Better yet, say you gotta pizza. They always say they gotta pizza in the movies. Bet he’ll totally let you in if you say you’re slinging some ‘za.”

“I’m not slinging anything but justice,” Ryan returns cockily and that alone would have kept the smirk on Shane’s face if he didn’t add, “And holy water bullets.”

The little addendum makes Shane’s mouth go ashy and his sour expression gets an aggrieved sigh, “Hey, if you really don’t want to be here…”

“How’re we getting in?” Shane cuts in. Ryan absorbs that and, seeming to conclude that Shane is still on board, nods, “I’ve got a plan.”

“Like?”

“Uh, well…” Ryan’s confidence drops somewhat and he’s more like the Ryan Shane knows. The awkward, bumbling one that’s would win his heart if demons had one, “R-Remember at MA’s when you, ah, teleported us.”

“It’s not telepo-!” Shane huffs, about to correct him but deciding instead to just skip to the point, “You mean moved use through the shadows?”

“Yeah. That. Could…could you do that again? To, um?” he gestures at the gate and Shane looks at it then to Ryan and then back again. He breathes in through his nose and walks closer to the gate, hands in the pockets of his coat. His head cranes back as he inspects the height of the bricks and then the gate itself. There are security cameras mounted at various intervals, some pointing to the street, some pointing inwards towards the property.

He rubs a hand over his face, thinking. Thinking back. Thinking to when he was one with the Void. He’d traveled on his wings or through the dark for days at a time then. Slipping in and out of places that were far more impenetrable than this one. Slipping in and killing, feasting…

The phantom tang of coppery blood rises up on his tongue and he gags. His mind flashes to all the horror, the destruction, the sheer violence. The feeling of flesh rendering so easily under his claws, his fangs –slicing through skin and bone like wet paper and the shrill, useless screams. The aborted cries of the damned, the doomed, the already dead. And the endless malevolence combined with this repulsive apathy…

“-hane! SHANE!”

He hears distantly and then he feels hands. Strong, firm hands gripping his shoulders and his eyelashes flutter, “Wha-?”

“Dude! You-! You were…I don’t even know how to describe it!” Ryan sounds…scared and Shane finds himself… _feeling_. It was as if, a few moments ago, he _wasn’t_. It was as if he’d…vanished. Now he feels corporeal, feet firm on the ground, hands on his shoulders and Ryan continues, “It was like you were-? I don’t know. Fading.”

“Fading…”

Ryan gives a jerky shake of his head, “One moment you were standing there and the next…it was like-? Like watching smoke trail away or ashes blow off or-or-fuck! It doesn’t matter! You were-!” he roughly tugs him close, holds him tight and Shane is so cognizant of himself now that the feeling of Ryan’s hands on him, of his face pressed into his shoulder, are paramount, “Jesus, man. Don’t…don’t _do_ that.”

Then quietly, oh so quietly, “Don’t leave me.”

Followed by an even softer, “Not again.”

Shane gulps and pats Ryan’s back, his head, and the motions feel mechanical. Off. But _real_. At least they’re real. When Ryan finally lets him go, he lets out this sniff, as if he thinks he went a little overboard, a little too emotional. He clears his throat, “Okay, so? Other ideas on how to-?”

“We can do that,” Shane counters quickly, “We can travel in the dark.”

“What? NO. You just-!”

Shane waves an unconcerned hand, “Eh, that was just a-a fluke. A bad memory. If you go with me, it should be fine. Mean, it was before, right?”

“No! We’re not-!” Ryan starts but now Shane feels like he has something to prove so he drags Ryan back towards him and starts shifting into the shadows. As with before, they both dissipate, filtering into the shadows and Shane does his best to stay on track. The memories of the Void came only because this is very reminiscent of what he did before. Traveling in the shadows, hunting his target, massacring them and anyone who stood in his way.

But he didn’t have Ryan then. He has him now and he can feel him. A tiny glowing ember and he holds on to that, uses it to snake a quick path along the vast stretch of lawn. He zips them over acres of green grass, winds through rows of trees and searches out, tries to pick up on the energies of the other demon.

One of the best things about being as high in level as he is? He can now pinpoint the location of other, lesser demons with ease. And, well, a lot of demons are lesser now. He hasn’t given too much thought to his elevated status. Hasn’t wanted to. But he can privately admit to himself some of the perks. That innate knowledge of other creatures’ positions and power. Granted, that was also something he was proud of when Voided. It certainly made his…mission…easier.

Regardless, it’s useful now and – once he feels like he’s gotten them to a close, yet reasonably safe distance from Arbusil, he brings them back into the light, back into solidity. He and Ryan break apart and his hands descend back into the pockets of his jacket even as Ryan glares at him, “You son of a-!”

Shane shrugs, “Told you. Fluke.”

“You still shouldn’t have risked your safety like that! MY safety like that,” Ryan grouses and Shane answers with a second shrug, “Worked, didn’t it?”

Ryan just sucks in a lungful of air and shakes his whole body like a dog shakes off water, “That shit still feels so _weird_. My eyes were open this time too.”

“See anything?”

“No, just…flashes. It’s like,” he has an interesting facial journey as he thinks of the best way to describe it, “It’s like if you stuck your head out of your car window while you were going like – a billion miles an hour. It’s all…rushy wind blur.”

“Shouldn’t stick your head out of your car window when you drive, Ryan,” Shane chastises and Ryan flashes him his middle finger, making him chuckle even as he looks around cautiously, “So, he’s-? He’s here?”

Whelp. There’s the end of that. All the fun drains out of Shane again as he sighs, “Yeah.”

“Where-?”

Shane just forks a thumb over his shoulder and Ryan gives a resolute nod, reaching into his holster to draw out his weapon. Shane hates all of this. Everything about it. Jesus, does Ryan even know how to _use_ a gun? Or is he really one of those idiots who thinks you can just pick one up and use it easy as pie? Ryan doesn’t seem like that kind of stupid. Shane has more faith in him than that.

Or.

Well.

He _did_.

Until this whole mess started and at least Ryan is holding the piece right as he stealthily moves forward. Shane follows after, full of nothing but regret but also hearing a voice in his mind that sounds like a sage Sara’s: _He won’t do this. Not really. He’s just playing the part. He’ll back down. He’ll do the right thing. He’s not a killer. You’re overreacting, you’re overreacting, you’re over…_

They go around a corner of the palatial mansion they’ve ended up at and, naturally, there’s a pool. It’s a thing of pure beauty. It’s an infinity pool and Shane has to resist the temptation to whistle at the sight of it. It _glows_. An inviting aquamarine paradise and past that a swanky cabana pool bar and there, sitting nearby at a table, is one Charlie ‘Arbusil’ Arbus.

Frankly, he doesn’t quite fit in with his surroundings. Probably because he’s got something of a goatee going on or maybe it’s his swept back hair or the bit of paunch at his waist or his small stature or his…whole ensemble. Ratty bedroom slippers, white tank top, striped boxer shorts and a _kimono_. The guy is wearing a silk red kimono.

And he’s bent over a Styrofoam take out container, eating and laughing at his phone while sounds drift out that sound...vaguely sexual. Shane really doesn’t want to know what he’s watching as he and Ryan move over with effortless ease because this fucking muppet is too distracted to pick up on the sounds of them coming.

Lower levels can pick up on higher ones, it’s not difficult. It may take a bit longer, but it’s easily sensed. Unless, apparently, you’re this demon and when the realization finally hits, when Charlie finally picks up on Shane’s energy, he’s almost on top of him. Charlie jolts up right, tossing the phone he’s holding into the pool with a solid plop.

The lesser demon’s eyes go comically wide as he holds up his hands and his voice comes out, a scraggly screeching mess, “Oh _crap_! _Shit_! MADEJ! Aaa!”

A literal ‘Aaa’! Not a scream. Not a crying out noise. An actual ‘Aaa’ leaves this man’s lips as he jitters about on the reclining plastic chair he’s sitting in, “I, uh, I-I was just-!” he gestures to his lost phone, his food, and then holds up his hands again, “L-look big guy, I-I know what you’ve been up to! The-the whole cabal knows and you, _psh_ , you don’t want to mess with me, y’know!? I’m-I’m so beneath your notice and-and-and oh shit!”

He jabs a finger in Ryan’s direction, “You brought your-your concubine?! Really? Is-is that what gets you two off? Huh? You ice me and then just go at it over my corpse?! Not that I’m judging!”

Charlie leaps from outrage to groveling so fast it’s making Shane’s head spin. And he doesn’t stop, still babbling words a mile a minute, “You’re free to do whatever you like and I’m humbled to-to be in your presence and I recognize your vast shift in our-our group structure and your personal level and I mean – good, good on you for all that ascending. Doing it so fast and-and so viciously, I mean it’s on the backs of your fellow demons but hey, like, like screw the cabal – amiright?”

Ryan looks to Shane as if to ask, ‘does he always talk this much?’, but Shane can’t say because this is his first time seeing him and frankly, he’d like it to be his last. There’s something about him that’s so…oily. Gross. Shane’s dealt with bottom feeding leeches before, but Charlie _really_ takes the cake.

More so when he gestures to Ryan, “And-and I gotta say, good-good on you for that one, man. Like, good choice. I mean, Asians, they’re the best-!”

Ryan draws out his gun lightning quick and points it right in Charlie’s face and the demon lets out a sharp squeal, “Oh _Christ_! Calm-calm down, little guy! I-I was only joking!”

“Not funny,” Ryan hisses and Shane will let him have this one because…yeah.

Charlie is a quivering mess as he demurs, “No-no, I-I get it! Less-lesson learned! Didn’t mean to offend, Ricky. It…it _is_ Ricky, right? Ricky Goldsworth?”

The question surprises Shane somewhat, considering Charlie is supposed to be a font of knowledge, a go to guy for the cabal and to get his information this wrong…

But then Ryan steps closer and there’s a fire in his eyes that makes Shane blood run cold as he hisses, “It’s Ryan Bergara, motherfucker.”

Shane doesn’t know what to do with that. The way Ryan looks, the words he’s saying, the way he’s still pointing the barrel of his gun right in Charlie’s face. And he doesn’t stop, snarling, “I don’t need to hide behind some goddamn joke to get a job done. Got it?”

“Oh no! Yeah! Totally!” is the demon’s quick, begging response, “Look, you-you want some of this?”

He gestures to his take out container, “Got some-some good Denny’s here, Ryan. Got some-some sausage links. Moons over my hammy. Denny’s has some good shit! First-first supernaturally run restaurant on this plane of existence! Well, ‘sides from MA’s, but-but your types can’t go to there. Denny’s is something we put out for you guys!”

He presents the last like it’s a noble gesture on their part. Shane rubs at one of his eyes because…yeah. Charlie is beyond slimy. Repulsive. He gets up from his chair, hands still raised in surrender, “G-go on, my man. Have a seat! Eat-eat up!”

“I don’t want anything to eat,” Ryan returns, gun still raised, shoulders leveled, head titled just slightly, like he’s lining up a good, clean shot and that can’t be it. It can’t be. Shane is watching all of this like he’s outside from it. As if it’s happening somewhere else, _to_ someone else. But Ryan’s posture is rigid, jaw set as his finger caresses the trigger, “You have to pay for what you did.”

“Wh-? What I-?” Charlie frantically flaps his arms about, “I haven’t done anything to you, dude! I don’t even _know_ you! I didn’t even get your name right! And I got good sources! People who sat down and-and watched all your Blizzfeed crap!”

“It’s Buzzfeed and I’m not talking about me personally!” Ryan says through clenched teeth, “I’m talking about the shit you do for the cabal! Specifically the kids!”

“The…kids?”

“For that senator! The one in Kansas!”

Charlie looks wildly confused for several seconds before it seems to click in his head, “Ah! Okay! Right, right – you-you mean Baraxese! Ha! Well, _that_ guy-!” he lets out another ‘psh!’ kind of sound, lips overly flapping, “That guy was _sick_ , but like, I mean, he’s _powerful_. Almost as powerful as,” he jerks his head in Shane’s direction, “Or he _was_ , ‘till your guy gutted him and yeah, Madej, you-you’re the real deal, y’know? Like-like you’re on some dark prince level shit, like-like Lucifer would be proud. Or, well, mean – _old_ Lucifer, ‘cause from what I hear these days, the guy’s gone a bit soft, but no, yeah – like – old school days Luci would be _totally_ down with the shit you’ve been up to! Like that massacre in Dubai was fucking _lit_. Clean but-but gory, and I love me my gore, like-!”

“Shut. Up.” Ryan spaces out, jabbing the gun closer to him and, again, Shane will let him have this one because…yeah. He doesn’t disagree. Charlie is a handful. A yapping handful. At the sight of the gun, Charlie goes pathetic again, “My point is, is like, I couldn’t tell Baraxese ‘no’! He’d’ve torn me limb from limb! He was above me. He was like-like my boss! One of my many, many bosses in the cabal and I can’t tell him ‘no’ because then he’d have to go all-all medieval on me! And then the others’d jump in and I’m like-like just a cog in the machine, man! You know the machine. You gotta be a part of it or it’ll roll right over you and hey, hey-!”

He drops his voice to conspirator octaves, “You’re the head honcho now, Madej. Everybody knows it. Adamox can’t stand up to all the power you’ve got going on now. You’re like, a legend. Your rebellion – your revolution – the cabal…I mean, the ones you’ve left alive? They all want in! They want to be part of it. They want to be on the winning side and I-I can get you anything you want! That’s my thing! That’s what I do!”

“Hey,” Ryan cuts in sharply, fingers still flexing on the trigger, “We know that, trust me.”

The demon’s tone becomes a nasal whine, “I told you. I didn’t _want_ to do the kids! You think I _liked_ doing that?! I HATED it! Swear to-to-” Charlie seems to realize saying ‘swear to god’ isn’t such a good idea and turns (what Shane’s sure he thinks is) sympathetic eyes on him, “Swear to _you_ , my-my lord.”

The last comes out so awkward. As if Charlie has trouble calling anyone ‘my lord’. Not that Shane’s a fan, but hearing Charlie push it out makes his skin crawl. More so as he presses, “My liege. My buddy. My pal. C’mon, you-you can’t kill _me_. I’m _useful_.”

And just when Shane thought he couldn’t feel anymore disgusted…

…the way the demon says ‘useful’. He looks away, beyond creeped out and he’s been to _Hell_. He’s seen _torture_. And _this_ is what really makes him feel sick. Ryan is much the same, lips screwing up tight and he pushes the gun closer, “No deal. This is what you get. What you deserve. You’re a fucking demon and I’m going to end you!”

Shane flinches at the announcement. The way Ryan says ‘demon’ and how proudly he says he’s going to end him. He’s legitimately invested in being the one responsible for ending Charlie’s existence. To be the one smiting him. Or is he?

Shane notices the slight tremor of the gun, the less than sure hold Ryan has on the grip. His fingers have been twitchy on the trigger, but never forthright. He’s nervous. Unsure. Despite his words, he’s still _his_ Ryan. Relief pours over him; a blissful balm and Shane reaches out to rest his hand over the top of weapon, to gently lower it away when, suddenly, a surge of decisiveness seems to take Ryan and his resolve grows more stronger, “Show me.”

“Sh-show-?” Charlie starts and Ryan jabs the barrel at him, “Show me your true form.”

“I-I don’t-?”

“COME ON! SHOW ME YOUR HORNS!”

“Ryan...” Shane starts in disapprovingly. Not only at the demand, but at the way he’s raising his voice and Charlie - stupid, grubby, eager-to-please-Charlie - starts to change. His venom green horns emerge, eyes going black, claws forming and his voice rivals’ nails on a chalkboard in his full demonic state, “You-? You mean this?”

There’s this glint in Ryan’s eyes. This awful, lifeless glint and he’s…unrecognizable. It’s like Shane’s never seen him before, never met him before. He’s a stranger. Someone Shane doesn’t know at all as he keeps looking at Charlie with his dead-doll eyes, “Do you know what I am?”

“I…” Charlie looks between them, clearly worried, “N-no...”

“I’m a _demon_ hunter. I hunt demons. I kill demons,” sheer gratification drips from each word, “And I’m very, very good at it.”

“But-but-but,” Charlie trips over himself, visibly trembling where he stands, “M-Madej’s the one who-?”

“Ha! You think _he’s_ in control here? You think _he’s_ in charge?” Ryan asks darkly, “You know about the show, I’M the one who calls the shots. Off camera and on. He may’ve started all of this but it’s my turn now. And I’m finishing it,” Ryan confides and he undoes the safety as if he’s done this all his life.

“You-you-you-? I-I-,” Charlie’s eyes are wet, “You-you only took out Zig'drozok. That’s-that’s what I heard. That’s what my sources said…”

Charlie looks at the gun and licks his lips and he honestly looks like he’s going to piss himself any second as Ryan slowly draws back the hammer on the gun, the sound deafening. Final.

“Your sources are right. He was my first. You’ll be my second.”

“ _RYAN_!” Shane seethes but it’s like he’s not here at all. It’s like only Ryan and Charlie exist, as if only the two of them are cognizant of each other. The outside world isn’t relevant. In this tense bubble of time, of space, it’s only the hunter and the demon. The hunter and the prey.

Something like insanity or the awareness of his shortening transience seems to take Charlie, makes him stop cowering to growls, “You won’t. You’re-? You’re nothing but-but Madej’s human whore! Trying to-to throw your stones around and play with the big boys! I watched some of those stupid PowerPoints you made for fucking stoners and other internet twerps and you’re-you’re just trying to be the big man!”

Ryan flinches and Charlie grows bolder, “Oh yeah. Big man on campus! I’ve seen your type before. The bro. The frat brat! Think you’re oh so _cool_. But I’ve seen you cry over bats and pigeons and the fucking _wind_ and you just try,” a gruff laugh bursts from him, “You just _try_ and pull that trigger! You’ll choke. Your kind always does. So? Go on! Prove me wrong, tough guy! Do it! Pull the trigger!”

The gauntlets been thrown.

Everyone stops breathing. Time itself seems to grind to a halt. There are no sounds. No hum of insects, no noise. Just three figures in a tight, tense circle. Shane looks to Ryan. Waits.

“Okay.”

Ryan pulls the trigger at the exact same moment Shane cries out ‘NO!’ and knocks his arm up, making the gun fire off into the air. Shane’s hand has a death lock just below Ryan’s elbow as he turns to Charlie and barks in full demonic timbre, “ _Go_.”

Charlie doesn’t need to be told twice. He hightails it into the mansion even as Shane turns on Ryan, a whirlwind of unbridled ferocity, “Have you lost your goddamn mind?!”

“Have you?!” Ryan returns just as maliciously as he tries to tug out of Shane’s hold, “He’s getting away!”

“Fucking LET him, Ryan! Jesus FUCKING Christ! You almost fucking shot him point blank!”

“It’s what he deserves!” Ryan spits and Shane is still holding him but he feels…he feels as if Ryan’s…taken something from him.

It’s like when he stabbed him in the graveyard but…worse somehow. It’s as if he’s plunged his bare fist into beating Shane’s chest and drawn out…out…

Not his heart…something else…

...his..

…his soul?

He’s shaking his head, as if to clear it, as if to rewind time. As if to go back and change, change…shit, change _everything_.

He’s lost and confused and outraged beyond belief when he hears shouts behind them and turns to see Charlie and a group of thugs. Some human, some demon, all armed to the teeth and he doesn’t know how Charlie ramped up an army so quickly but he doesn’t care as he quickly changes form. His wings emerge and he turns, shields Ryan as guns start firing at them.

His newly elevated abilities make the bullets damn near harmless. He’s not bullet proof exactly, but damn close. Enough that he can protect Ryan and himself from the onslaught as Charlie lets out this annoyingly sharp hyena laugh, “ _Yeeeeeeah_! That’s right! Fuck you, fucking motherfucking fucks!”

Shane’s whole face contorts with pain, with anger, as he pushes forward. He moves Ryan behind the cabana, behind a building that – while small – offers some form of cover.

“Stay,” Shane orders Ryan and he can hear some semblance of protest but completely ignores it as he dissipates, goes shadow, phasing right through Ryan and Ryan presses a fist to the center of his chest, rubs there, hard, as if he can _feel_ it.

Shane can’t analyze that now.

He can only move, an unholy howl escaping him. The totally inhuman noise makes everyone waver, pause. A mistake. They pause long enough that he can slither with unnatural quickness towards his target. His whole being hums, burns.

It remembers.

With stark clarity, it remembers this. Remembers the boundless freedom of untethered action. Of being one with the Void. The void, the void, the endless liberating void…

He swiftly forms right in front of Charlie, right hand whipping out faster than a coiled snake as it wraps long, sharp claws around the foolish demon’s throat, “When I said ‘go’, I meant ‘go and don’t come back’. Not, ‘go and bring back friends’.”

He then, without even a second thought, twists his hold and shreds Charlie’s neck, damn near beheading him as a loud snap rings out and the smited energy flows into him, “Idiot.”

The sound of firing guns rings out again as the failed army around Charlie tries to take him out. Once more they are unsuccessful but, more distressingly, some of them snap and disappear as well and Shane can just make out bullets being fired from where the cabana is. Where _Ryan_ is.

Being more demon than human in this moment, he can easily catch sight of the holy bullets. They move in a way that’s…unnatural and suddenly he understands. They’re enchanted. Not just to not harm humans, but to seek out the demonic. They’re directional bullets. Which basically means – they’ll find their intended target no matter what.

They bypass the human members of Charlie’s army, but easily smite the demon ones. Snaps ring out as bodies either burst or dead hosts fall. The smited energy flows to its proper recipient, to Ryan, and sinks into the crystal around his neck. It’s a chaotic war and Shane is going to put an immediate stop to it.

His wings expand, their leathery sound louder than the firefight the air as he rises up and then dives down in one quick, fell swoop. He scoops Ryan up easily (despite his struggles) and drives them upwards into the night sky.

It’s not easy to fly, he’s talked about that before – but his increased level, his emotional state, his…everything…makes it feel natural. Easy. He transports them miles and miles away, lands them somewhere near the Vegas strip and no one sees a damned thing because, even with all the bells and whistles and neon lights – it’s _Vegas_.

Shane deposits them in an empty alley and immediately turns on Ryan, “DUDE! What the actual FUCK?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ryan roars, “ _YOU’RE_ the one-!”

“I don’t give a _SHIT_ what _I_ do! This is about YOU, Ryan! What the FUCK were you-!

“MY JOB!” Ryan screams and he shoves at Shane’s chest, shoving him away violently, “ I KILL demons, goddamn you! I’m fucking sick to death of arguing this! OH! And you’re such a fucking _hypocrite_! YOU Killed him, NOT me. Is that it, huh? You want to be the one who-!”

Shane’s aborted, heated ‘no’s’ and other attempts at words are lost as much as Ryan’s arguments are until he hears Ryan’s, ‘I’m doing this for you’ and he totally snaps, “NO.”

This time the word cuts in loudly, effectively, like a hand swiping through the air to emphasis the objection and Ryan shuts up long enough for Shane to be heard, “NO. Don’t you _dare_ fucking say this is for me or because of the prophecy or Raziel or whatever the fuck excuse you’re trying to hide behind! YOU _like_ doing this! I saw it, Ryan! I saw it in your face back there! You-you…”

His words shake and he feels like he’s going to be violently ill as he gasps, “You actually fucking _like_ this! Like…killing…”

A dry sound, something like his old wheeze but worse, leaves Ryan, “And you don’t?”

“…no, Ryan. I don’t.”

“Some demon you are,” Ryan says it so offhandedly, so simply. Shane’s head rears back as if his friend’s slapped him. His world shatters. He shakes his head repeatedly, tries to clear his memory, tries to forget the sound, the words. So callous. So painful. So…

Damp heat fills his eyes and a wet sound leaves him, “Yeah. Well…”

Shane turns away. He can’t…he can’t look at Ryan anymore. Can’t stand it. He looks away from and can only hear himself, an echo, “Just…try to admit that you’re doing this for _you_ , Ryan. At least do that. At-at least be honest with yourself.”

Silence falls between them. Definitive. Agonizing. They’re in a dark, dirty alley – happy lights and sounds only feet from them. So close, so far away. Another place, another lifetime. Another world. Shane whispers heavily, “Find your own way home.”

He moves his wings, rises up even as Ryan draws out his phone and he picks up the light, “Hey, Sara? Yeah, it’s…”

And then he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKSGIVING/BLACK FRIDAY ARE OVER. So, as a retail worker, I live again. Somewhat...still have Xmas and BD and all to contend with...


	15. Chapter 15

It’s like being underwater. It’s like constantly drowning. But there’s a calm there. A slow motion sort of despair that Shane’s growing more comfortable with as each moment passes. Getting back into MA’s takes little to no effort. Kitreka’s fawning the moment he sees him, but Shane’s had enough of that tonight. He gruffly asks to be taken back to their...his room.

He also asks for the progenerator because fuck if it’s going to look like he left it. Like _they_ left it. They made it together and now it needs to be different. But not so much so. Which is to say he keeps the bar and the robotic bartender and that’s about it. It’s a dark, dimly lit tap room now. Like ‘The Shining’ but less sinister and more just…ghostly. Sad.

The robo-tender makes him drink after drink and each slides down his throat with little to no effect. But it’s the action he appreciates, the clear cliché of it all. He’s playing with the base of his glass when he hears a soft hush behind him and turns to see Viola appear out of the darkness.

“Wasn’t expecting you,” he murmurs into his martini as he takes another sip, “Don’t need turn down service.”

“Ain’t here to offer it,” she returns as she carefully draws herself up on the nearest stool, “I’m your personal roomkeeper. Sensed a need, so I’m here.”

He eyes her over the rim of his glass, “Thought I needed to push a button for that?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead she turns to the robot and blinks at it and it goes to work. Shane watches with fascination as it tosses together a whiskey neat and slides it in her direction. She easily catches it, downs it in one go. Now he’s the one blinking, “Who _are_ you?”

“What’s with the theatrics,” she asks, another quick motion to the robot signaling she’s up for another round, “Would’ve thought someone of your caliber would be more original.”

“Wasn’t aware I had to entertain you,” he mutters and puts his drink down, fiddling with the stem again. He’s contemplating his best course of action. He could ask her to leave. _He_ could leave. Under his breath he asks, “Why’re you here?”

“Told you – I sensed a need. If the supernatural world is one thing, it’s gossipy. Word is, Bergara’s a full-fledged hunter now. Both of you took down a pack of demons, lowered your cabal’s number. You gain any more power, you’ll probably burst.”

Shane snorts into his cocktail, “Well, Ryan took some. Bunch got zapped into a crystal he’s wearing for an angel prick who set him on this path.”

“The _angel_ set him on this path?” Viola returns, “Or you did?”

“Don’t tell me you’re a shrink too,” he rolls his eyes heavenwards, “I already got one in my physician. I don’t need another in my…” he trails off and waves at her. Her lips twitch as she sips, “Been called that before. Been called lots of things. Regardless, thought you might need an ear – a sounding board.”

“Is _that_ my need?” Shane scoffs and she shrugs. They sit there in silence, drinking and looking around their surroundings. The lights humming behind the liquor cabinet glow bright white and Shane catches his reflection in a small mirror behind the bar. He immediately looks away, looks at her, pointing the rim of his glass in her direction, “You’re not wrong.”

She doesn’t ask about what. He answers as if she _did_ ask, “All of this started because of me, so, guess I was the one who took him down,” he looks into his drink as if it has all the answers, “Dragged him right down into the pit with me.”

Silence comes again. The robot continues pouring drinks when it senses the need for refills. Shane is annoyingly sober, clear headed (or as clear headed as he can be considering the latest shit storm) and finds himself talking more than he might otherwise, “I _can_ be more original, you know. The whole-the whole drinking my troubles away? It’s uninspired. I’ll give you that. Formulaic. You ever see my show? You ever see the Hot Daga?”

Viola doesn’t say a word, her face doesn’t even twitch, yet somehow Shane _knows_ , “Then you know I can come up with some wickedly novel content. One-of-a-kind plot twists. But,” he gestures around, “I don’t know. There’s something to be said for the classics, right? Everything starts somewhere before it _becomes_ cliché. Satan knows that…God too.”

The last comes out bitter and he shakes his head, “The guy drinking away his troubles…it’s a staple.”

“So’s the sage advice,” Viola counters, “You want it?”

He puffs out a joyless laugh, “Not particularly.”

They go back to the quiet, the drinking. Time ticks by and Shane hates it. He’s _wallowing_. He’s never really _wallowed_ before. Certainly not before Ryan and certainly not before acquiring part of a soul. He finds his fingers forming like claws but not _actually_ changing. His nails scrape at his chest and he remembers that feeling of passing through Ryan. He remembers feeling…whole. Complete.

And in that moment, he realized he hasn’t felt that way in a very long time. Not since before the Void. Ever since then, ever since that sacrifice – he’s been different in one way or another. He hasn’t…he hasn’t been himself. He hasn’t been Shane Madej. He’s been a pale imitation. Ryan may have a hole, but Shane has something else.

This…fading. A dispersing of who he is. It’s more than just physical. He knows that now. Before, when he’d first returned, he’d felt so strong. So powerful. He’d felt beyond levels. Now? Now he feels…weak. And weaker with each passing moment, pathetic, and that’s something he’s not familiar, much less comfortable, with.

Why does he have to be such a goddamn softie? Huh? He’s a DEMON. He should be gruesome and heartless and perfectly fine with scaring the shit out of Ryan. He should embody the monster Ryan has always hated and spoken out against. He was when he was with the Void and now? Shit, now he doesn’t know what the fuck he is. _Who_ the fuck he is.

He runs his hands over his face and leans back, hears his spine pop and grunts before hunching forward again, “What is it then?” and he looks at her, “The advice?”

Her fingertips play with the rim of her empty tumbler, “More of an observation. You and your boy, you both have issues. You’re both right and you’re both wrong. Thing you gotta ask yourself is – how do you see this ending? What do you _want_ outta all of this?”

His eyebrows knit together and he crosses his arms, does his best to lean his lanky form back. He’s sure he looks ridiculous. His long, spider legs feel strangely akimbo as they are, resting against the legs of the barstool, but he can’t seem to think of any other way to sit as he faces her. She looks at him, black eyes deep and fathomless, “You mentioned being a writer. A creator. Not all that different from Lucifer and certainly not all that different from God.”

Another eye roll, “God. Christ…talk about the biggest of all clichés.”

“Daddy issues?” her tone is light, teasing, and he can’t help but glare at her. She’s impassive, “Again, gossipy community. You start rising up – word gets out. Ex-angel…moving up in the world. Big old prophecy. Juicy stuff.”

“Boring stuff. Stupid stuff. Again, you wanna talk about clichés…”

“I want to draw it back to God for a minute,” she offers softly, “Seeing as it all starts there, doesn’t it?”

“According to Him.”

“Hmm, yes,” she bobs her head, “True enough. Maybe it started elsewhere. Maybe there was someone, something, before Him, maybe they’ll be after. But – far as we know – that was the first. The start. The beginning.”

“You going to start quoting the Bible now?” his smile is all sharp edges, not fangs – just gritted teeth, “‘Cause it changes, depending on the version…”

Viola agrees, “Lots of versions. All written by men, all reportedly from His lips. All…stories. Fabrications.”

“This got a point?” And he knows he’s being rude. But if she thinks so, she doesn’t remark on it, “Saying you’re not the only writer that’s all. Reportedly God was the first and what’s one thing all writer’s share in common?”

“You going to tell me He has writer’s block?”

Viola _actually_ laughs. Shane can’t help but be enamored of it. It’s rich and warm and her smile grows, “Writer’s make mistakes.”

“Oh really?” he turns back to his drink, “Don’t think he’d approve of that sentiment,” she just gives a questioning hum as he finishes off what’s left in his glass and smacks his lips together wetly, “Yeah, haven’t you heard? God doesn’t make mistakes.”

“You saying you don’t think his casting you down was one?” And oh, but she is slick. He can’t help but look at her with twinkling eyes, “I sense a trap here…”

“No trap,” she promises, “Just a question.”

He opens his mouth to argue that it’s a dumb one, but she’s not done, “Let’s say, for arguments sake, that God _does_ make mistakes. That all the things humans say with a book they crafted themselves _isn’t_ true. Let’s say, in the beginning, there was only Him and He got lonely.”

“…God,” he tests out, “Got lonely…”

“You’re alone,” she presses on, “You’re aware. You’re in a nothingness. A blank emptiness. What do you do? How do you occupy your time? Your existence? Do you just sit there? Do you float in a vacuum or do you fill it? Do you create? Do you build? Do you tell stories, make characters – do whatever you have to do, to keep yourself occupied? To fill the void?”

He eyes slide away from hers, “Well…I _do_ know a thing or two about voids…”

“Yes, but you know more about an evil construct with that name. I’m talking about finding a purpose. Fulfillment. I’m talking about creation because, without it, there’s this endless, terrible meaningless space and yes, not _everything_ has to have meaning, but it has to have _something_. There has to _be_ something. Even if it’s less than perfect. Even if there _are_ mistakes.”

The robot has refilled Shane’s drink but he pays it no mind, “I don’t see what this has to do with anything. With Ryan. With me.”

Viola tosses her head from side to side as if Shane’s a silly child. As if he should know better. He doesn’t know why this upsets him, but it does, “God crafts a story, makes characters – he fleshes them out. Angels. But they’re too bright, too pure. They’re ageless, practically infallible…too similar to Himself. You know what they say about everyone being the same…”

“Now you’re saying He got _bored_?” His tone is mocking but she just holds her palms up, “Again, mistakes. You know – writers know – there has to be conflict. There has to be culpability, consequences, dangers. He recognizes his own short comings and realizes He can craft creatures like that as well. If angels are the personification of his flawlessness, well…humans…”

Viola’s drink has also been refilled, but, unlike Shane, she takes another deep draught of it. Shane can’t help but find himself caught up in her ideas, her theory, and he motions for her to continue, “Now He has interesting characters. Similar to Him, but with vulnerabilities. Depth. They can tell _real_ stories, so suddenly, the angels are a little less perfect…”

“I’m _really_ starting to enjoy where this is going,” Shane chuckles because, yeah, any dig on the hoity-toity halo set is fun, but her dark head dips, “Won’t be for long. Not when I get into how He notices this – plays with it. Expands his narrative.”

Shane absorbs that and then it hits him, like a lightbulb going off above his head, “You’re saying He caused the War.”

She nods, “As any good writer would. You push your story forward. No matter the consequences.”

“Okay, but-but-,” he leans forward, a fire starting to burn in the pit of his belly that has nothing to do with alcohol, “This isn’t just some fictional story. These aren’t characters. These…these beings that _existed_. That were- _are_ -real!”

“Ever hear of ‘playing God’? It’s an apt phrase.”

“It’s BULLSHIT,” he hisses, the fire stoking higher, “This is more than just some mistake – this is willfully and ignorantly playing with others like you have any right to! Even…even if He’s the one who created them, what gives Him the right to-! To-!”

He runs his hands through his thick hair repeatedly because-because-! Fuck. It’s so messed up on so many levels. And it fits Father dearest to a ‘T’. Viola is cavalier, “Naturally he chooses his favorite son to play a leading role.”

“Lucifer?”

“Don’t actors always say playing the villain is more fun than playing the hero?”

“Yeah, well,” Shane wheezes humorlessly, “Why don’t you ask ol’ Luci if he likes it? One guess what his answer’ll be.”

“Still,” Viola sighs, her fingers threading and unthreading around her glass, “God has the ying to his yang, the dark to his light and he chooses the best among his creations to herald the part. And, herein, he creates his third cast of characters. Demons.”

“Not all demons are fallen angels.”

“No, some were found by Lucifer in another realm, one not of God’s making, but once introduced, it was easy enough to get them to adhere. To have them provide a service in the overall scheme and you know what that is.”

“Punishing souls,” It’s not said like a question, because it isn’t. After the War, the fall – he spent a lot of time in Hell. A LOT of time. The first human souls had had yet to arrive, but when they did…

It’s been so long now, but the frenzy, the excitement in the Pit…he remembers it with stark clarity. It had been paramount. Souls were the main crux of the war. The pure power contained within them, the free will…to know they could be tainted and fall right into their laps…to know that God’s new favored creatures could turn dark, could _fail_ and fail so spectacularly.

“It’s a perfect circle,” she explains, “Angels to humans to demons. The humans are the middle ground – their choices, their actions, their general beings…that’s what sends them in one direction or the other. And some of them go bad. Very, very bad. Some of them deserve – have earned – what they get below. They earned the pain, the agony…”

“Mengele, Ian Brady and Myra Hindley, Katherine Knight-”

“Knight’s not dead yet.”

“No, but one day she will be and I think we all know where she’s going.”

“Interesting choices. Most jump right to Hitler.”

“That was never a question. Not that the ones I named were either, but,” he shrugs, “They’re ones that’ve stuck with me. The things they did…some humans are worse than demons.”

“Exactly,” her open palm taps the bar top smartly, “And here we come to it. The main event. Some humans can be worse than demons. Conversely, the opposite is also true. It _has_ to be true. You mentioned names – people, and I use that word loosely – like Mengele and Hindley, they’re in Hell and they get to spend eternity getting tortured by demons and those demons – they have to be worse than those very humans in order to provide the proper punishment, the proper pain. They have to be abominations even more abhorrent than the wicked souls they’re tearing apart and sometimes – _sometimes_ – they exceed the wildest of expectations.”

“Let me guess - this is where you’re going to tell me Ryan’s right?”

Her head tilts some and he takes that as a ‘yes’, “So what? Ryan’s right to go out and slaughter demons as viciously as he sees fit? He’s right because these demons are leagues beyond the worst mortals? I mean, Charlie wasn’t-? But then again Charlie…”

He trails off, rubs at his eyes, “I, y’know, I get it. I-I chose the guy, because he seemed the most sympathetic in his height and his general – general patheticness -” Viola interjects with a quick, ‘Not a word’, which he acknowledges, “-noted – but, turns out he was just…gross and kind of the worst and hell, _I’m_ the one who snapped his neck in half, so, I mean, maybe-? Maybe I should have tried harder? Found a demon… _some_ demon in the cabal who’s actually-?”

“There’s not a peach in your entire cabal and you know it,” Viola picks up her drink and finishes it, pushes the empty glass aside and waves the robot away when it goes to refill it, “And I’m not saying Bergara’s right either.”

Shane starts with an aborted ‘But you-!’ and she waves his words away as smoothly as she did the robot, “My whole point is that humans can be horrible, demons worse, and angels, for the most part, stand on the sidelines. God? He’s a spectator. A witness. He very rarely interjects, more interested in watching the show than participating in it and you – you aren’t facing up to your direct worry, which is that Ryan is going to lose control.”

His brow furrows and she’s staring into his eyes now and he can’t – he can’t look away, “Ryan being a hunter? Not your worry. His killing demons? Not your worry. His losing himself in that task? His becoming unrecognizable? Him sacrificing the goodness in him to do it? _That’s_ your worry. You’re biggest fear. That he’ll become the very thing that’s always truly frightened him in those videos you’ve made.”

Shane can’t argue that. Because it’s true. She’s laying it all out, articulating his very thoughts and she doesn’t stop, “And, what’s more, that he’s going to turn all that aggression, all that power, on you - or have you not been struck by him before?”

“I…” Shane’s hand floats unconsciously upwards, presses to the very spot where Ryan drove the stake into him and her eyes are bright with meaning, “That’s what you’re truly afraid of. You’ve said it yourself. Ryan Bergara is prejudice against demons. Are you truly his only exception? Deep down, you don’t believe so. You’re skeptical. It’s in your nature. So…you’re afraid that, one day, he’ll truly accept you for what you are and turn on you.”

“No, No he-!”

“Yes,” her tone brokers no argument, “He knows you’re a demon. Logically, he knows. But he’s had yet to fully accept it. Embrace it. And when that happens, you’re terrified that he’ll stop loving you.”

His voice echoes back to him, faint through the ringing in his ears, “We haven’t-? He-he hasn’t-?”

“Don’t need to say it, to know it,” Viola gives him a sad little smile, “And you’re not wrong to be afraid. It’s a fine line humans dance on and for a human with only half a soul, well…”

She rises from the stool, dipping her hands into the pockets of her waitress apron, “He might be taking out demons and some demons may deserve it. Just like some humans deserve Hell. But nothing is ever truly black and white. Not in this world, the one He created. Some mortals are good. Some are bad. Same goes for demons. For angels. Question is – is Ryan Bergara always going to be able to tell the difference? Once he’s done with your cabal, once you really _are_ the last of your name – what is he going to do? What are you?”

The question makes him look away. He looks away for only a moment, marveling at how well she can read him and when he turns back, she’s gone. Vanished. Right into thin air. He doesn’t see a trace and, what’s more, he can _feel_ that she’s gone.

“Figures,” He looks back at their glasses and just as he starts to ponder getting another drink, he hears the door behind him open. He expects to see Viola, thinking maybe she somehow slipped past him somehow only to see Gloria filling out the doorway, “Madej. Let’s talk.”

 

+

 

Sara picks Ryan up and she has questions, lots of them. All he gives her is very glib responses and he can tell he’s ticking her off. He doesn’t want to. Honest. But he doesn’t feel like getting into right now. He doesn’t want to. Instead he wants – _needs_ – more of the rush. The rush of demons snapping left and right, the flow of energy, the cries of…

His hands keep alternating on the crystal around his throat, reflexively squeezing at it as he asks her hoarsely, “When you jockeyed for hunters, where did they go?”

She looks disturbed at the question. They’re back in LA, because she didn’t know where else to take them, especially since Ryan wouldn’t say word one about what exactly happened between him and Shane. He can tell she wants to pry, knows she’s about to push, so he quickly draws an innocent mien, “You know I’m looking for members of Shane’s cabal, so questioning some other hunters or demons…”

“O-kay,” she draws out, “But I-I thought that was what Mal was for? And what about Shane? I mean, you still haven’t told me where-?”

“Sara,” he tries, “Please.”

She looks like she wants to argue. Her unhappiness is palpable and Ryan feels bad about that, but he also – fuck, he _hungers_. There’s a yawning growing inside him – it’s small right now, but he can feel it. Can feel it stretching and he finds himself muttering, “If you don’t want to take me…”

“…no,” her voice sounds small, “I didn’t say that. I’m just-? I’m-I’m worried. Ryan…”

“I’ll just call Mal,” he draws out his cell, adding to one side, “Should’ve called him to begin with.”

Sara looks as if she’s been struck and with a quick flick of her wrist, she opens a portal and waves to it, “You want to go to where the big boys are? Fine. Have a blast.”

Ryan steps through the portal without a second thought. It clicks shut behind him and he checks his phone again, tries to triangulate where he is. He’s far from home, somewhere in Wyoming and in front of him is the nastiest looking dive. At his best guess it’s an old roadhouse – long forgotten and rotting in the desert.

It’s dark as hell out here – wild animals and insects screaming mindlessly into the hot, empty black night. There’s an ominous rumble of thunder coming from above and he can taste it – that ionized feel of an oncoming storm. Sand grits noisily under Ryan’s boots as he tucks his phone away and walks with determination towards the building.

The closer he gets the more he can hear sounds of life that have nothing to do with the natural world. There’s disturbing thrum of drums, of music, coming from somewhere and when he opens the door of the place, it looks abandoned. A dirty, wide swept space.

But the drumming – it’s still there, beneath his very feet. It beats in time with his heart and as he moves deeper in, he looks down to see a _glow_. Thin beams of blue and red work their way up through where the rickety wood floor boards meet. The lights undulate and shaking….there’s this shaking.

Deep set and rough. It’s as if he’s on a boat that’s being capsized. Yet he’s not sure if it’s his body or this place or the whole world that’s shaking. But it doesn’t matter. All it does is motivate him.

When he went on his first hunt, he’d felt a terrible dread in the air. A misery. When he’d felt it then, it had repulsed him. He’d wanted to leave, to flee. That feeling here is tenfold. This place has demons. More than one. Ones more horrific, more terrifying, than Zig'drozok. He can sense that. He knows it.

But, unlike with Ziggy, this time he feels the complete and total opposite. He’s not afraid. He’s…drawn. Compelled. _Excited_. It’s what he’d felt at Charlie’s once the fighting had broken out. This unbridled euphoria – the kind of joy that’s reserved for Christmas mornings and trips to Disneyland and when you’re right on the cusp of orgasm and Christ…

Ryan draws out his endless weapon and his gun is still strapped to his side, but he doesn’t want that. Doesn’t need it. A chattering voice in his mind says it’s too easy. Too quick. The weapon morphs into a sword, a katana akin to the one he has at home in his bedroom. The one for show, the one he keeps because it’s a collectible and hey, who has a need for that in real life?

He’s not a ninja. He’s not an assassin. When is he ever actually going to use-? And yet here he now, at this very moment, the endless weapon in hand a perfect replica of that katana. But sharper and deadlier and he draws out the orb as well, just for the added light as he delves in further.

There don’t appear to be any doors that lead to steps that will take him down. Each door he opens just leads to another grubby room and just as he’s wondering how the hell the lights are coming up if there’s no way beneath the building, he notices a broken window.

For some reason it speaks to him and he walks up to it, looks outside. In front of him is miles and miles of open country. Scraggly trees rise up in haphazard locations - dry, rusty blades of grass. He turns his head to the left and sees nothing more than wooden planks, paneling. But to the right? Ah, to the right.

To the right he notices a small bump out. A cellar. There’s a door outside that leads down to a cellar. His grin is one of pure chaotic happiness, “Cool.”

He moves outside, armed and ready, and when he reaches the cellar it’s locked. The door itself is slick with moss and dark – evil looking. He feels dizzy now, the hole inside of him trembling with…with anticipation. One swift strike and his weapon slices through the lock with ease. His hands are unsteady as he tosses aside the doors and the music becomes more prevalent. His sense of smell is immediately assaulted by the coppery tang of blood, acrid nicotine, and peaty weed smoke. It’s an intoxicating blend that only swirls in tandem with the pulsing club beat that greets him as he begins his descent.

The blue and red are revealed to be cords of neon that cling to the dirty, claustrophobic passage that’s taking him down, down, down. It’s as if he’s descending into a version of Hell, one that carries a grainy, polaroid film sort of vibe. Eventually he’s greeted by a low hanging light and a long, flat floor.

He finds himself in some sort of…den. Bones, body parts, blood, and unidentifiable gore decorate long swaths of the of the place as demons lounge about – some in human form, others not – and they regard his arrival with mixtures of outrage and surprise.

Good.

The first one to come for him doesn’t bother with words – it just attacks. He has no idea what level it is. Fuck, he doesn’t even know _what_ it is. It’s like a scaly insect with too many mouths, too many curved, sharp limbs. It lets out a bellowing shriek and its compatriots cheer it on. They encourage it, someone remarking how if this human is stupid enough to wander in here, it must want this.

And Ryan does. He feels the grip of the sword in his hand, feels it twist about his palm with a dexterity he’s never known himself to possess as he surges forward, lashing out. The creature releases another shrill sound, a spray of bright, yellow blood flying out in a wide arc. The sight of it – of that lovely arterial spray – sets Ryan’s teeth on edge and his thoughts are gone.

His rationality, his humanity – they go up in flames as he strikes again and strikes home – killing the monster with his second blow. It snaps, dissolves, its energy surging with force into the crystal around his neck and the hole in him feels that much smaller as he hears a voice, a human one, “Hey! I _know_ this guy! It’s Madej’s whore!”

“Madej? You mean that sonuvabitch who killed my sister’s bondmate?”

“The very one, man!”

“Motherfucker!”

“H-how’d he find us?” someone asks, but its lost beneath the other voices. Angry voices, angry shouts, howls and demonic, guttural curses. None of this slows Ryan down. Not at all. He just moves. He’s never felt this way before.

It’s as if he’s outside of himself, in complete control of himself. Every motion, every action, is full of skillful grace. Of confidence. God above, he’s never felt so sure. It’s as if he’s never been anxious a day in his life. In this moment he knows exactly who he is and exactly what he has to do. And he does it, moving throughout the room without mercy.

Waves come at him, but he hardly sees their faces (or lack thereof) as his sword sings through the air. It cuts so easily through flesh, through bone. Horns, claws, wings – they fall so easily beneath his blade and he gets swiped at a couple of times. He feels some pain lash across his back, the front of his right shoulder, along one cheekbone. He gets clipped in the jaw once – teeth clacking together, making his head spin.

But it’s all buried under this berserk, violent haze. There’s nothing but the cold, raw hatred. The desire to fight, to tear apart, to destroy. There might be pleading, there might be crying. Ryan doesn’t know. All he knows is he’s lost. Lost and uncontrollable – a machine of rage and fury and the sword changes with little compulsion into a bowie knife – something to bring him closer, to make his next strike more intimate as he buries the weapon hilt deep into a demon’s chest.

The demon snaps, light leaking from all of its pores and flowing into Ryan – flowing into the necklace and Ryan’s wet with blood (some his own, some not) and the sweat of exertion and, and…

His eyes cast about wildly. It’s the same way he feels when he’s drunk out of his mind. Totally bombed. Everything is twirling and spinning and there’s a massacre at his feet. A massacre of his own making. He thinks some of the demons fled. He knows most of them are dead. And then he catches sight of someone cowering in a corner.

It’s…a girl.

She’s…young. She’s young and she has very, very tiny blue horns. She’s all huddled up and Ryan blinks at her. Blinks and blinks and then another demon appears. He comes from somewhere out of the darkness and goes to her. He speaks to her in a hushed, demonic tongue Ryan doesn’t understand and she’s shaking her head wildly, gripping to him, crying and… _she’s crying_.

Tears flow from multiple eyes on her forehead, her cheeks, her chin. The demon ushers her away and it’s clear she doesn’t want to go by herself. She wants this demon to come with her. But he doesn’t. Instead he pushes her forward – his tone urgent. Finally she leaves and the demon turns to Ryan. It looks…resigned. Ryan wavers on his feet…

…he feels…

“BOSS! BOSS!”

The cry is wildly unexpected, especially given the voice attached to it is so familiar. Ryan turns to see Malthazor rushing down the stairs. He’s followed by Judy and Gladys and when Mal reaches the bottom floor he lets out a sharp little cry, slipping slightly on the fresh pools of blood. He reaches out, clearly looking for purchase and he finds it on the doorframe.

Judy, only a few steps behind him, is wide eyed as she takes in the whole scene, “Holy shit…”

Gladys floats through her, through Malthazor. But as she reaches Ryan she stops. Stops and…and she backs up. She looks at Ryan with an expression of horror and that’s when it finally hits him. What he feels. He feels…sick. He turns and promptly vomits, knees buckling some. Once done, he wipes at his mouth and tastes bile and blood and _oh god, oh geez, oh fuck_ …

“I’ll say,” Malthazor mutters and Ryan realizes he said some of the last aloud. Judy whistles, “And here we thought we’d have to rescue you…”

“Wh-?” Ryan manages but his throat convulses, still lined with phlegm and he hacks, trying not to be sick again, stomach lurching.

“Uh, yeah,” Mal says very slow and very dry, “Sara came to my office a little after dropping you off. Said she was pissed at you, so she brought you here to Charun’s place. This is a known hot spot for higher levels. Hunters hit it up every now and then – y-y’know  – unsuccessfully.”

The way he looks around the room speaks volumes of how impressed he is with what’s taken place. Albeit also a little uncomfortable as he wipes his hands off on his dress slacks, “Sp-speaking of Charun. H-Hey buddy…” he gives a little wave to the one remaining demon, the one who’d looked so resigned, “How-uh-how’s it-um-?”

Charun proceeds to wildly gesticulate around the room and at Ryan, speaking in a rapid fire tongue Ryan cannot understand. Malthazor looks equally confused, “Ah, um, okay. So-so it’s been awhile since I’ve spoken in Demoniac, much less _that_ dialect, so-?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake…” Judy rolls her eyes and walks over to Charun. They share a very heated exchange. Charun points repeatedly at Ryan and Judy does her best to soothe him, her hands doing little motions to get him to stop pointing. Ryan rubs at his eyes and a pitiful laugh escapes him. A laugh because sometimes that all you can do. Laugh.

Before this he’d felt powerful and untouchable.  He hadn’t felt like the Ryan Bergara he’d always known himself to be. He hadn’t felt weak and scared and helpless. Anxious and that had been the best of it. No anxiety whatsoever. He’d been unfaltering. He’d taken his believer status to a whole new level, because he’d believed in himself and everything he was doing and he…

Now he feels like he’s falling back to earth, back into himself. He feels like a thin reed, one close to snapping in the wind when he hears a throat clearing and sees Gladys float near him. She holds out a water bottle. He has no fucking idea where she got it from, but she holds it out nonetheless, her tone mild, “Here.”

He takes the bottle and drinks it even as she looks at him. He can still see through her, her being a ghost after all. But her eyes…they seem so clear now. Clear yet unreadable and he wonders what’s going on in her head when Judy lets out a very loud sigh.

She marches over to him, her arms crossed, face full of disapproval, “Well, Charun doesn’t give a shit about any of the clientele you smited. He’s a gatekeeper for one of the many entrances to Hell here, so, it’s not like death and smiting around this place is a new occurrence to him. But he _does_ care about you frightening his spawn half to death.”

Ryan is about to ask, but quickly recalls the little demon girl and keeps his mouth shut. Which is probably for the best as Judy continues, “Malthazor asked me to come when Sara showed up. She told us she only wanted to scare you a little for being such a dick to her. We tried to get your physician, but she was out for the night and ghost girl here,” she forks a thumb at Gladys, “Told us she knew you and wanted to tag along. Said she’s been taking some nursing classes in her spare time, so she might be of some help if you were stupid enough to come down here.”

“Don’t want to just run an elevator for eternity,” she grumbles and avoids looking at both Ryan and Judy. Judy goes on as if she didn’t speak, “But from what Charun just told me you came in here gun-” she stops, looks at the knife in his hand and corrects herself, “-sorry, knife blazing and started dispatching his customers left and right. He just takes their spirit chips, he doesn’t _like_ them, but _Ryan_ …”

The last is said in the most disappointed mother tone possible. Not knowing what else to do, Ryan drains his bottle of water as Malthazor comes over, hands in his pockets and rocking on his heels, “Man, boss, I gotta admit – you are one talented son of a bitch! At smiting AND lying! You looked me right in the face and told me point blank that you weren’t going to be hunting just any old demons – Madej cabal only – and I bought it hook line and sinker!”

Ryan almost spits out the last of the water on that one. Choking, even as he says, “That’s not true!”

“Oh ho! Okay! Sure!” Malthazor drags the words out as he looks around the room, “That’s not what the slaughter here says. I mean…do-? Do you want a trophy?”

Ryan hopes his face projects how disgusted he is by that suggestion but apparently it doesn't, “We got some horns here. Some claws. Even – ah ha!”

Mal picks up what looks like a tooth, turning it this way and that, inspecting it like a fine jewel, and Ryan gags, feeling close to losing it again even as Judy smacks the molar out of Malthazor’s grip, “What’s the matter with you?!”

“What?! Oh, like none of us have gone on a murderous rampage before?!” the demon scoffs, “Come on! Besides, all things considered, this is pretty tame! Coulda been _a lot_ worse. You should've seen the shit Madej did to his cabal! This is child's play! So I see no reason not to keep a memento.”

Both Judy and Gladys are shaking their heads in unison, but Malthazor is incorrigible, “Ryan did all of his kills in a supernatural way area, so no worries about mortal looky-loos and it’s not like Madej’s accounts can’t foot the bill for the carnage.”

“And I thought daddy long legs had a thing for the Boogara,” Gladys rolls her eyes so hard you can see the motion even despite her transparency. Judy tries to stifle her giggles with one hand even as Malthazor flushes and throws his shoulders back, “I do _not_ have a thing for Mr. Bergara! He is my client!”

“You call him ‘boss’!”

“He…he’s that too,” Malthazor argues, “Look, I’M his liaison, alright? It’s my job to support and help him through these…eventualities.”

“Yeah, well,” Gladys runs her nails along the bottom of her hairline, “Let’s hope one of those eventualities isn’t him icing you.”

Both Malthazor and Ryan start verbally balking at that, their words running over one another. Mal’s ‘whoa, whoa, whoa’s’ and Ryan’s affronted ‘hey’s’ are easily lost as Gladys cuts through the air with one firm hand, “You twos ain’t takin’ into account that only one of us here has actually _been_ killed. Alright? Trust the ghost in the room! I know what the eyes of a killer look like an’…well…”

“I’m not a killer,” Ryan says the words quickly and he hears the lie in them even as they leave. All three give him a pitying look and he feels his face fill with color, “I-? I mean I’m-I’m not one in the way you guys think. You’re…you’re making it out like I’m a serial killer or-or a maniac. But that’s-that’s not-!”

“You investigate unsolved mysteries. A lot of ‘em have murderers, so it ain’t all that hard for you to get into the headspace of one and now,” Gladys just holds up both hands as if to say ‘there you go’ but Ryan refuses to except it. He’s about to argue differently when a sudden realization hits him between the eyes, “Wait…you all said you came here to save me…”

They all give him the affirmative in one way or another, “…but you also said this place was swarming with high levels and I thought-? I mean you're-? You're low levels. Weren’t you afraid your actions would be viewed as a challenge?”

Gladys looks away as does Judy. Surprisingly Malthazor makes the heartfelt confession, “We, uh, well…we-we thought it was…was worth the risk…”

The risk. These three were willing to come down here, willing to get smited, for Ryan. Two demons and a ghost. Ryan’s heart hurts as much as his head, his stomach, as much as the hole in him that wavers again and it'd been shut through the entire fight. Fight, ha. No, more like slaughter. Malthazor had chosen exactly the right word.

_I know what the eyes of a killer look like._

“But, whatever, looks like you had it handled,” Malthazor pats Ryan’s right shoulder, all friendly and smiling and Ryan has never felt so low in his whole life, “Guess being a bondmate to someone of Madej’s degree has enhanced you too. Mean, no one’s ever done a study into that, right?”

He looks to Judy for confirmation but she just shrugs. He prattles on, “Much less into shared souls and hey, wouldn’t it be something if its given you a little boost? I know the bonds not-not fully in effect right now, but the soul thing is, so, so maybe it makes you more human than human? Or, like, a bit beyond human or…?”

“Your suggesting he killed all of these demons so easily because he’s around the same level as Madej?” Judy questions wryly and Malthazor grins, “Maybe? Wouldn’t that be something? Humans that can level?”

“He wouldn’t be human then,” Gladys returns, then under her breath, “Not that killers are…”

The comment catches Ryan’s ears and okay, he _can_ feel lower.

He hears someone else on the steps and really, he should stop with questioning how low he can feel, because there’s Sara. She’s come down and she looks miserable. He arms are crossed and she takes in the whole scene with aplomb, “Take it this is why Shane’s not here.”

“Oh yeah!” Malthazor’s voice is so bright, as if this never occurred to him, “Where _is_ Mr. Madej? Shouldn’t he have been here, ah…helping you? I know he’s very good at-!”

“He was possessed by the Void then,” Sara counters and her voice…Ryan’s never heard it so icy, “Ryan? Psh, I don’t know his excuse.”

“Oh, come on now! That’s-that’s a little rough!”

The four of them start debating it. Malthazor, Judy, Gladys, Sara. It's a loud, round robin of angry voices and Ryan just stands there in the middle of it. Comments flow around him, soundless, meaningless. He's in a silent, strange bubble of dissociation.

He has an empty water bottle in one hand. A bloody knife in the other. He carefully tucks the knife back into his satchel and blinks. There's a door to one side of the room and he walks towards it. He doesn't know why he's drawn to it, but he is. Same as he was to the window, to the cellar. He goes through the door and it's a tiny restroom. A cracked mirror rests above the sink and he stands before it, looks at his reflection. One side of his face is caked in crimson. His hair is wild, pupils blown. He looks at himself and the craziest smile lights up his face.

He doesn't know _why_ he smiles.

He doesn't care.

The sight of it immediately causes ice to pour through his veins, heart seizing as pure, unadulterated terror strikes him, a scream strangling his tight throat. The smile drops away and his fear is vividly visible.

He's seen this face before.

It feels like centuries now, but he saw this _exact_ same expression on the face of his doppelganger in the Buzzfeed restroom mirror. Saw it too, in the rearview mirror of his car. It was before he knew about the supernatural actually being real, before he knew Shane was a demon, before all of this. First he'd seen a spot on the curved metal sink and touched it and it's been red between his fingertips. Then more had appeared. Crimson droplets coming from nowhere that had run circumvent of the water before turning black and the smell...

He looks in the sink now. There are many crimson-black droplets of blood. And the air...the air is full of a sulfuric scent. Just like it was then. But it'd disappeared. He'd thought it was all in his head. An illness he'd caught from Shane. But now...it's real _now_. It's in front of him this very second. Those things in the past...they were his future. He saw his _future_. They'd thought it was just the Void stalking him, but...

He does his best not to run. He does his best to walk normally as he exits the restroom to join the others and their debate is still ongoing as he moves woodenly over to Sara. The moment he reaches her, her words draw to a sharp halt.

“Sara?”

She licks her lips, bites the bottom one hard before she acknowledges him, eyebrows narrowed, her eyes meeting his with fire, “Yeah?”

“I need help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Used to be I updated once a week. Now it's once a month. SIGH. But also, hey, marvel at my storytelling as I reference events back in Chapter 2 and 4 of 'Believer'.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to check tags in case anything may trigger you! Remember, staying safe should be your number one priority! ;D

"Well, first things first,” Gloria says with no preamble as she walks over and slaps Shane smartly across the face. Considering his level has long since passed hers, the action doesn’t hurt, but he still reacts to it, head turning to one side. He looks back at her, eyebrows raised, “And that’s for?”

“Your girlfriend teleporting me to Canada,” she mutters as she takes Viola’s vacated seat at the bar, “Take that in, Madej. CANADA.”

“What’s wrong with Canada?”

“What _isn’t_ wrong with it? You ever try corrupting a Canadian? Urging their soul to the dark side?” Her upper lip curls in a disgust as he admits, “No. Can’t say as I have.”

“Well, trust me – it’s…aggravating,” she looks at the robot and, seeming to recognize its new patron, it comes to life, zipping over, “Margarita, please. Extra salt on the rim.”

 “You said ‘please’ to the robot….”

“I have manners,” she offers coolly as the robot ended passes her the requested drink. She thanks it as she takes a swig, “Something you could use in your wheelhouse.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know my wheelhouse is very multifaceted,” he runs a hand through his hair, long fingers weakly toying with the strands at the back of his scalp as he murmurs, “Also, she’s-she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Mmm,” Gloria hums knowingly into her margarita, “Currently. Feel free to tag that on there. You two can’t help it. Always in one another’s orbits, casual or not. My take? She’s gonna give you a couple years with Bergara then - boom. Two for the price of one. Can’t say I blame her. Especially since you’re both so gosh darn _cute_.”

The last is said with pure mocking as she reaches out and tweaks his nose. Hard. He offers her a loopy grin, “Aw, Gloria! Didn’t know you cared!”

Her dark eyes roll, “I don’t. Said that to be nice. Frankly you look like some kind of ostrich. What with the beak here…” she goes for his nose again and he bats her hand away, doing everything in his power to not self-consciously rub at it, “Okay, okay. Well. You said you wanted to talk. Is _this_ what you wanted to-?”

“No, no, no, I want to talk about what you owe me.”

“I…owe…you?” the words come out slowly, haltingly, because he’s honestly at a loss for words. A rarity in and of itself, but there it is. For her part, Gloria is unmoved, “You bet and it’s not just for the unwanted trip to the wilds of Ontario,” her eyes are hard now, glittering unbreakable jewels, “We were in the middle of something. You and me. When your boyfriend dived in, all righteous fury and white-knight ready.”

His head rears back wildly, his loss of words now dissolving into a world of crazy. What is she talking about? But then he looks at her, looks into those eyes, and the memories slowly resurface. The cemetery in New Orleans. They’d been fighting. To the death. _Her_ death. She’d wanted…

Shane’s arms cross on the bar top and he rests his weight on them, expression as serious as it can be, “You wanted me to kill you.”

“Yes.”

“And I _wanted_ to kill you,” he’s surprised he doesn’t trail off when he admits it. Doesn’t beat around the bush. But he knows Gloria respects people, demons… _whatever_ …being upfront when they speak to her. And it’s the truth. He remembers that more than anything else from his time with the Void. The unrelenting drive to wipe out every single member of his cabal, regardless of his connection with them.

Not that he has a connection with any of them. But Gloria…

…well. Gloria. He doesn’t hate her. There’s something between them. Recognition, maybe. A sense of kinship, similarities. It _is_ why he’s speaking so frankly. He knows her. And she understands him. And there’s something to that, but not enough for him to do what he thinks she’s asking, “Gotta say, I’m not…y’know…feeling quite murder-y right now. Maybe later?”

Her eyes dart upwards as if she knew he’d say that and was dreading it, “I could grab the spirit box – lock myself in a room, click it up to max and maybe after a couple uninterrupted hours-!”

“Do you know how many cabal members are left?” she bites out, clearly not appreciative of his attempt at humor, “Seventeen.”

He doesn’t know why the exact number and her knowing it surprises him, but it does. What surprises him even more is the feeling associated with it. Not of loss. Not of worry. But of pride. He blinks and looks away from her. _Fuck_. Here he is, giving Ryan shit and he’s just as fucked up…

One of his hands squeezes over the bridge of his nose, encompasses both eyes and _presses_ ,  “Take it that includes you and me?”

He doesn’t see her nod, but knows she does, “Adamox too.”

He lowers the hand and just _looks_ at her. She nods as if he’s spoken, “He’ll gather up the last thirteen,” she worries her bottom lip, “Power in that. Thirteen.”

“Old superstition.”

“With cause,” she sits back and now her own arms cross, “He’ll gather others as well. Probably a whole pack of ‘em. High level demons. All thirsty and raring to go and this is where I get to the heart of it, because your little guy has been making something of a name for himself as a hunter…”

“Ryan is _not_ a hunter.”

“No, I think we can both agree he’s something else entirely,” her words are grim, expression more so, “And what he is, is going to deliver him to a very unhappy fate unless we work together.”

And just when Shane thought he couldn’t be more surprised and speechless. He can _feel_ his eyes widening, “Work-?!”

“Whether you like it or not, you started this. Whether or not prophecies are complete horseshit, this one is in motion. Whether you like it or not, Bergara’s on a one way trip to the Pit with a layover at the boneyard if you don’t intervene. If you don’t _finish_ ,” she surges closer to him, practically out of her seat, “And that’s where I come in. I’ll help you with this. I’ll see it done. Hell, I’ll pull the majority of the load, but in return – you’re going to do your goddamn part! You’re going to give me what I’m _OWED_.”

The last is loud and full of determination as she smacks one hand noisily on the bar, making her glass jump and teeter over the edge, shattering into pieces. He looks at the broken glass, then at her, then snorts, “Drama queen.”

Gloria draws in a loud, steadying breath and pulls out of his personal space. She looks away from him as the robot comes around from behind the bar, clearly summoned by the noise of breaking glass. It clears up the debris with easy efficiency before scurrying off. Shane watches it work, then looks to Gloria. She’s absently chewing on one thumbnail, her eyes casting from side to side.

He wonders what the hell is going on inside her head and then hears himself ask the more important question, “Why?”

She doesn’t look at him, but he knows she heard the softly spoken question. He keeps his eyes fixed on the bottles of liquor lining the cabinet in front of him, “Why do you-you want to die so badly?”

No response. No motion. No reaction. No nothing.

“Why do you _want_ me to smite you?”

She sighs and lowers the hand, her own eyes directed where his are, the back of the bar the equivalent of the barrier in a confessional booth. Something to focus on rather than the person you’re baring your soul (so to speak) to, “Told you some of it back at the graveyard. Don’t know how much of it you remember though.”

“…you talked about how much you loved God,” he spaces the words out as if he’s tasting each one, because it’s…odd to say the least. He doesn’t have enough Daddy-issues to be affected by holy water and the cross and the like, but to say he doesn’t have _some_ issues – well. Viola shed light on that. But, hey, doesn’t everyone have some issues with the one who created them?

God, mother, father – and even on the other hand - foster, step, adopted – the one who made you, shaped you – there’s bound to be issues there. Questions and resentments and feelings too tangled to even begin to sort through and for Gloria to love him, to maybe still love him…

But it’s even more intense than he anticipates as she gestures to her face, “Yeah. That’s part of it. You’ve…the scars? These ones? Yeah, they’ll never heal. Never go away, no matter what shape or form I take. Even if I move to a human host, they appear because I…I got too close.”

His eyes narrow, scan side to side, then grow saucer huge as something clicks, “Holy fuck! Are you-?! When you say you _love_ him, do you actually-?”

The heaviest of sighs leaves her and she motions to the robot. Looks like she needs another drink. Shane doesn’t blame her one bit. Hell, he half wants one himself as a twisted noise escapes him – not quite a laugh, not quite a sickened gag – but a sound that she easily interprets, “No one fell like me. No one.”

“Psh – yeah! _I’ll_ say,” he tosses out a whistle, “Man, that’s…intense. Very-very Game of Thrones…”

“You get that he’s not actually our _biological_ father, right?” It’s half question, half clearly practiced rebuttal, “Yes, he created us – but he drew us together through sheer force of will. Not from anything remotely sexual.”

“Yeah, but we still call him ‘Father’ and just, just…” he can’t help but wrinkle his nose and give an overly visible shudder.

Her tone is bone dry, “You done?”

“No way, no how! There’s-there’s _a lot_ to unpack here! I mean, shit, when _you_ sinned, you went ALL out, huh? Took-took ‘loving the Lord’ to a whole new level! When he cast you out, it had to be…fuckin’ Christ! I can’t even picture it! I don’t think even _Lucifer’s_ done something as depraved as-!”

“Can I continue?” she interjects pointedly, “Please?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, sure, Miss Manners,  but this-? It’s just-?” he barely manages to stifle his words, clamping his lips together tight even as he motions for her to continue. But… _damn_. What she’s just admitted is still a hell of a thing to absorb. The mere _idea_ of it…

Gloria valiantly presses on, “Naturally I was cast down. How could I not be? He knew and he… _ha_! ‘He’. _That’s_ always been hilarious to me. You know he’s not a ‘He’, right? Or a ‘She’. Or ‘Them’ or ‘It’ or-or…”

She shakes her head, “It’s so much _more_ than that. Beyond that. Something no mortal or supernatural being can even begin to comprehend. We use the language we have available to us, because there’s little else we can do to try and describe the - the glory, the all-encompassing power that God represents. Even _God_ is a misnomer, because depending on the belief system – the religion – he’s recognized as someone else, something else.”

“Yeah. Dad’s great,” Shane deadpans, “But, I mean, y’know – there’s a limit to that. Like, he’s just as bound by the laws of physics and science as-!”

Gloria clearly disagrees with this sentiment even as Shane’s stating it and abortive words escape her, ready to deny his accusations and he just trails off because really, what’s the point? They could argue this forever and it’s not what they’re here to discuss, so he let’s her take back control of the conversation, “Look, look – this–? It’s irrelevant. Alright? What I’m doing is answering your question and that starts with telling you about my-my fall from grace.”

“Having heart-eyes for the Lord Almighty. Got it.”

The look she shoots him would probably make most men quiver. Probably. Not him. The look fades as her eyes return to the back of the bar, back to the safety of the pseudo-confessional space, “So, I got knocked down. Several notches and, unlike you, I embraced my new path. I gave myself whole heartedly to the demon lifestyle. I rose in the ranks, I leveled – I slaughtered my brethren for power and status. I destroyed human souls, devoured them with relish and all with a particular bent.”

“Which was?”

“The holy,” Gloria lips twitch with bitter pleasure, “That was my focus. My goal. My fixation. I devoted myself – all of my might and power, all of my time and energy  – to the corruption of any who gave themselves over to the glory of God. Popes, priests, bishops, shaman, monks…if you believed in a power higher than yourself, I went out of my way to make sure you were damned. Tainted. Spoiled so that your soul was sure to be tortured.”

“…so, you wrecked a bunch of innocents as revenge?”

A simple shrug, “I’m a demon. To me, no one is innocent. And, well, considering my own transgression…”

His lower lip juts out, head tipping in concession, “Fair.”

“So that was my deal. Centuries of it. Climbing the power ladder, annihilating human souls. I won’t say it was necessarily a happy existence, but it was certainly an occupying one. Until I met him-”

“Who?” Shane cuts in, “Jesus? Did-did you swap father for son?”

Another look that would wither most. Another look that doesn’t slow Shane one bit, “Or maybe the holy ghost? Spirit? Or, wait, they’re all the same, aren’t they? Depending on what ridiculous religious rhetoric you buy into…and hey, if you make it with a ghost, Ryan’ll probably want to interview yo- _mph_!”

Her hand zips out, slapping over his mouth to stop him, “This isn’t Bold and the Beautiful, okay? This is my life.”

Shane goes for the childish lick to her palm but she moves too quick. Her hand retracts and since the lick misfired…

“You don’t think your life is bold or beautiful?”

“No, I was referring to the soap opera-”

“You don’t think _your_ life is a soap opera!?”

“Do I have to keep my hand on your mouth to finish this conversation?” the question is asked with true sincerity. His smile is mile wide and it says something about him that she can’t help but mirror it, “Besides, if anyone has a soap opera life, it’s you, long legs. Or are we just sweeping under the rug your whole big sacrifice for love? The soul sharing? The-!”

“Okay, okay,” he waves away her words and Gloria picks up where she left off, “Anyway, I was talking about a voodoo _practitioner_ I met in the late 1800s. Dominick…”

The way she says his name, as if savoring it, makes Shane’s lips twitch. Is that how he sounds when he says Ryan’s name? God, he hopes not. Talk about embarrassing. It’s clear as crystal she was head over heels for this guy. He…he doesn’t sound like that when he says ‘Ryan’.

…he _doesn’t_.

He fidgets at the thought, but she doesn’t notice, lost as she is in her memories, “The practice of voodoo didn’t particularly vibe with my type, but I was living in the French Quarter at the time and there was something about him…a purity, a…a brightness…” Her gaze shifts to his as if for confirmation but it doesn’t need to. He knows _exactly_ what she’s talking about.

A brightness like the sun.

…maybe he _does_ say Ryan’s name like that.

“I wanted to destroy it,” the words come out gruffly,” I wanted to snuff out his light. Bury him in darkness. I wanted to take away all his hope, all his positivity…he was a generous, kind, loving soul and I wanted to drag him down into the dirt. Tear him to pieces in the Pit. And I went about my normal routine of doing so. I gained his confidence, I lied, I cheated, I tricked and deceived…I did everything I could but he-he-!”

Her fingers drag through her mass of curls, “Somehow he…changed everything. Everything about me and how I viewed things and suddenly all my cruelty, my seductions, my little plans…they became something else. I didn’t want to hurt him anymore but I did…I did want to have him. Keep him. I wanted…I wanted to _be_ with him.”

The fidgeting grows worse because this? This is hitting a bit too close to home. Shane finds he wants to…hide. Funny, he’s never felt this way before. But what she’s saying, the way she’s recounting her story and her feelings…it’s too goddamn similar. And he finds he doesn’t like being so…seen. But she is seeing him and she’s looking right at him now.

Not at the safe point at the bar, but at him. _Fuck_ , he can feel the heat of her stare, “I never thought I’d love again. But I did. So I told him. Everything. I told him all of it and he…he _still_ accepted me. Can you believe that?”

Her face lights up with a smile Shane’s never seen before. One he didn’t even know she could make. One so lovely and warm as to make her scars practically vanish, “He pointed to his own ‘sins’, y’know? Children born out of wedlock, flings with members of the same sex – stuff that humans actually think God gives a shit about. Things they think they’ll get punished for,” her laugh is rich, colored by her reminiscence, “Point is…even seeing the fangs, the tail and horns – all that shit… he still wanted me. Still loved me. So, I bonded him.”

This actually does grab Shane’s attention. This finally snaps him out of his awkward shame, “You? You were-?”

“Bonded. Yes.”

“But…” his eyes dart side to side and he has a hard time wrapping his mind around this and god knows, she’s given him a lot to wrap his mind around.

But…Gloria bonded? And so long ago? If that’s truly the case…

She rubs at one cheek, pushes beneath her eyeline, “Yeah…I know what you’re thinking. We bonded, so I shouldn’t be here. I should’ve aged, I should’ve passed when he did and…” she shakes her head and a dry ‘ha’ escapes her.

Gloria’s eyes rise skyward and then roll back down, “…but it wasn’t so simple. I was…important? I think that’s the explanation I was given? I was too important to lose like that. So. Dominick was…taken care of.”

Cold streaks shoot throughout Shane’s body, goosebumps rising, hair standing on end at her tone, “Our bond was severed.”

“H-how-? W-who?” The two question tumble almost over top of one another. Each as important as the other. One of Gloria’s shoulders rises and falls, “Who do you think?”

He doesn’t have to, “Adamox?”

“I was one of his top lieutenants. A crucial key in his cabal. I’d done such lovely work. It’d be a shame to lose me to the rabble. After all, didn’t I know better? To dally about with God’s little mortal insects? His mistakes? What _was_ I thinking?”

“Adamox said that to you?”

“No,” she plays with the glass in front of her. The one Shane missed seeing her drain. The one she had had to have in order to continue their conversation, “It was passed along. No one’s seen or spoken to him directly for ages. Or maybe he’s risen so high now as to not need to be seen directly or heard directly or…fuck does it matter?”

The last is huffed out in exasperation, her head tossing from side to side, “He got his way. Like he always does. Like every man above me does. Only one who didn’t is Dominick and that’s probably because he wanted to be my equal. And I wanted to be his. But – because of me – he was…”

Strange sounds struggle out of her. Odd breaths and disgruntled noises and she can’t seem to sit still as she pushes on, “I won’t-won’t get into the gory details. But…like I said. He was taken care of. The cabal made sure I knew _why_ he was taken care of and that was that.”

“But…you still worked for the cabal? For Ada-?”

“I told you. Dominick had _children_ ,” she stresses this, words passionate with defense, “I couldn’t risk the same happening to them. So. I did my part. I went back to playing my role. But with a new caveat. To protect them. His children. His line. I adopted them as my own. When I wasn’t doing the cabal’s dirty work, I dedicated myself to Dominick’s descendants.”

“But that line…it’s gone now. It ended naturally, if you can believe it. No metaphysical interference whatsoever. But, with that gone…” Gloria captures his gaze with her own, “See, I’m not asking you to take my life. That’s already been done. I’m just asking you to take my energy. To end this…this…” her hand moves in a circle in front of her face, “This shell.”

He wants to look away. He wants to deny her. He can do neither. Only look as she pleads her case, “Raziel approached me. Long time ago. Told me all about your little prophecy, helped me push Ryan towards you. I helped, because this is what I want. Do you understand? I want you to be the last of your name, because if you are – then you wipe Adamox out and, more importantly, you wipe _me_ out.”

Gloria draws air into her lungs, the sound audibly quavering, “I get to end this…this listless, endless torment.”

“Gloria…”

“Just…try to put yourself in my shoes,” her voice takes on a distinctive edge, “Imagine if Ryan was gone.”

“I don’t have to,” he hears himself say, because he doesn’t. He can see Ryan’s crumpled up body in the shipping container. He can see Ryan’s frozen eyes when he was taken by the Void. He can see Ryan’s blood soaked face when he left him in Vegas. Lose Ryan? He’s done that. More than once. Hell, Ryan is _still_ lost.

Getting him back? And for good? That’s the real question. But he knows Gloria can’t get Dominick back. Knows that that is lost to her forever, making her next words that much more heartbreaking, “I don’t beg, Madej. But…Hell help me… _I will_. I will if you ask.”

“I…” he has no idea what the fuck to say to this.

“That’s how much I want this. Need this.”

No words come out of him. Only a hush of a consonant. She visibly trembles, “ _Please_.”

Shane’s swallow is deafening. He lumbers to his feet and carefully pushes in his bar stool. He walks all the way to door before saying quietly over his shoulder, “Tomorrow night. My place. We’ll go from there.”

As the door closes behind him, he finally hears her break.

+

 

How does everything feel like it was a lifetime ago? How does that work?

Ryan walks into his apartment and it’s like he’s never been here before. It’d taken some cajoling on his part to convince Sara he needed to come here first. He’d asked for help and god knew, he planned to get it, but first? First, he needed to get his head on straight. He needed to get cleaned up and he needed to sleep. He needed his home.

Sara had conceded, but sternly told him she’d check on him in the morning. That she planned on steering him where he needed to go. And he didn’t disagree. But, again, first thing first. So now here he is standing in his apartment, the place that should be his home, and feeling very much like a stranger in a strange land.

He looks at his movie posters, gifts from fans, his closet full of jerseys. He runs his fingers over his closed laptop, some books on a shelf and feels completely and totally disconnected. He’s like that stupid picture of Ben Affleck that floated around the web for days – the one labeled as dissociative. It’s a fitting term though. He feels…dull. Faded.

His life doesn’t feel like his own. He doesn’t feel like Ryan Steven Bergara or at least the one everyone’s always known. Jesus, when was the last time he went to work, huh? When’s the last time he edited video? Messed with some sound bit? Done something productive or creative or-or anything that he recognizes as himself?

Because hey, while he _was_ creative recently, it’s not the kind of creative he’s used to. No, this creative was linked to fighting, to killing, and he finds his fingers clenching and unclenching. His dominant hand shakes at the muscle memory of it. Of being wrapped around the hilt of a knife, the feeling of thrusting it forward, of having a blade sink deep into a creature’s chest.

That sensation of flesh parting under your actions and doing so, so easily…

His throat works, stomach twisting and fuck, is he going to be sick again? He’s still embarrassed about that. Losing it like that in front of so many people he knew. But next to the nausea is a terrible excitement and Jesus, he’s so fucked.

Ryan wanders into his restroom and doesn’t bother looking in the mirror. He doesn’t want to. He’s seen enough of his reflection for one day, thanks. He woodenly enters the shower and clicks on the water. Yet again, the spray carries away rusty blood and grisly grime. Just like it did when he brought Shane back after the Void debacle. But then that had come off of Shane. Not him.

But now the water that swirls down the drain is from his blood, his sweat, his dirt, his sins. And he has no excuse. None. He wasn’t possessed by the Void. What does he have as validation? Half of his soul? Is that it? And yes, the demons he killed were just that – demons. Monsters. But the absolute pleasure he took in it…

…the pride he _still_ takes in it.

“Shit,” he mutters as he rubs at his face, as he presses closer to the damp tiles beneath the shower head. He rests his forehead there, lets the water wash everything away. Lets it lull him with its rhythmic rain until he feels brainless and boneless.

Ryan slips from the shower and crawls into his bed and he’s damn near asleep before his head even hits the pillow. He sleeps and sleeps and sleeps. It’s deep and dreamless. Every now and then he wakes, rolls over, clutches his pillows closer and falls back into the veil of unconsciousness.

Occasionally he makes it to the restroom, empties his bladder, and then finds himself going right back to the comforts of his bed. He loses himself to the rest and relaxation, the loss of time and space. When he finally does draw himself from his bed, it’s been well over a day.

 He’s surprised Sara or someone else didn’t show up; but frankly he’s relieved. He’s not ready. Not yet. Besides, he has a pretty good idea where Sara will want him to go. Where Mal and Judy will want him to go, maybe even Gladys and as for Shane?

Fuck knows what Shane thinks and out of all of them, he’s surprised he hasn’t seen him yet. But it isn’t like they ended things on the greatest of notes. In fact, it’d been rather goddamn miserable and if Ryan hadn’t been so high off the kills at Charlie’s, he might’ve reacted differently.

He might have recognized the change within himself, become cognizant of how something is wrong with him. Seriously, seriously wrong. But man, when those demons had snapped and their energies had flowed towards him, he’d been…

Shaking his head to himself, he focuses on getting dressed, on getting out. Eventually Sara or someone will come and they’ll take him to get the help he needs. But they’ll take him where _they_ think he needs to go and he has his own idea. One he wants to do before anything else. So he hits the streets and takes a quick swing through Chipotle (because sleeping for almost a whole day with no food? Saying he’s hungry is an understatement) before getting an uber.

A quick internet search manages to narrow down his target and before he knows it, he’s out front of the pediatrician’s office. As he walks through the door, he catches the faintest hint of his own voice, “… _that people seem to think that serial killers are all like, in this character universe_.”

Followed by Shane’s soft, “ _Yeah, he’s for sure in the Serial Killer Avengers_ …”

Their voices are tinny and clearly from a phone and as he rounds a corner, he catches sight of a receptionist intently watching her cell. She only hears him and doesn’t look up as she offers a sweet, “Sorry, but we’re closing in-H-h-Ooh my god!”

The last is said when she _does_ see him.

“Uh, hi,” he offers inelegantly as she jumps up from her seat, both hands covering her mouth. The phone clatters to the counter in front of her, continuing to play one of his older True Crime episodes. He catches sight of himself and Shane, a wistful smile tugging at his lips before he directs his attention back to her, “Guess you know who I am?”

“I-? Um-? Uh-huh-?” she manages just as clumsily and she holds up one finger, “Just, uh, yeah…”

She disappears behind a door and, in a few minutes, he hears high pitched, girlish shrieking. Hoo boy. His cheeks puff out as the original girl returns and with friends, each of them bright eyed and smiling. It’s not that he’s unused to fans, but every now and then it’s…a bit overwhelming. He’s just Ryan Bergara – not Ryan Gosling.

But sometimes he meets people who act like he’s some silver screen actor. Like he holds up the moon. It’s disconcerting to say the least and all these girls have that look about them. He coughs into one hand, “Ah, yeeeeah. Is-? Is Doctor Fielding here?”

“Yeah, she’s wrapping up for the day but-but I can get her! Just-!” She holds up the same finger as before and disappears. The girls left just sort of eyeball him and he can practically hear their thoughts. He manages a smile, “You guys want to take a picture?”

Another round of girlish shrieking and the next thing he knows, he’s getting his picture taken from every angle imaginable. After awhile his smiles actually become genuine, because their infatuation with him is amusing and hey, he’s dealt with worse. At least they’re not asking intrusive questions or getting too handsy. Still, it’s something of a relief when Kristina appears, “Mr. Bergara? What are you doing here?”

“I was wondering if I could talk to you,” he says and draws away from his mini entourage, “And please, call me Ryan.”

“Kristina!” one of the gasps, “You’re the one who got us into this show! You didn’t tell us you _know_ him!”

Kristina merely shrugs as if it’s no big deal before turning her chair towards the door she just came through, “Come on back into my office. We can talk there.”

Ryan heads in that direction even as Kristina turns to the others, “You all go ahead and finish closing up and then clock out. Bethany, if you don’t mind staying a little longer…”

Bethany (the one who had been working the reception counter) beams, “Oh no! of course not! You and Mr. Bergara take your time but,” she points to him, “You watch it, you! She’s a married lady!”

“Bethany,” Kristina presses her fingers to her forehead, clearly annoyed, “He knows that.”

“Well does he know I’M single? Because I’m-!”

“RYAN – if you would, please!” Kristina breaks in and rolls towards the door leading to her office. Ryan gratefully follows behind. They go into her office and he makes sure the door is shut behind them even as she wheels behind her desk, “Sorry about that. I swear they’re all good people. Just…easily star struck.”

“Not you though?”

Kristina levels him with a stare, “I’m married to a vampire. Very little phases me.”

“What if Tom Cruise walked in? Jessica Chastain?”

“Again, I say - vampire. Besides, this is Los Angeles. Actors and actresses are a dime a dozen. Now,” she laughs, “if Sarah Badran walked in here, that might be a different story…”

“Sarah…?”

“Famous doctor,” she tosses out even as she waves to a seat in front of her desk, “Go on, make yourself comfortable.”

He does and she laces her fingers together on her desktop, “So? What brings you in today?”

“Well, ah, I was wondering if I could get some advice?”

Kristina regards him with obvious surprise, “From me?”

Ryan nods, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Hey! If I’m calling you ‘Ryan’. You’re calling me, ‘Kristina’. Fair?”

He ducks his head, “Fair.”

“Right! So…how can I help you?”

He scratches at the back of his head and avoids her eyes, slouching some in the chair, “It’s…a long story.”

“The office is closed for the day. Qyrora works the late shift tonight. I got time.”

Ryan draws in a deep breath and then starts. He starts where he knows the story would begin for Kristina. Right after the soul fracturing. He tells her about getting Shane back. He tells her about Raziel telling him he should hunt. He tells her about the gear Mal gave him. He tells her about the first hunt, the second, and finally he concludes with the third.

He wraps up with, “…and so I just…I thought…maybe-? Maybe you’d be able to help? I mean, I’m sure everyone would recommend I go to your wife, but I mean, you’re a doctor too-”

“Ryan,” it’s the first thing she’s said since he started telling his story and it comes out very dry, “I’m not that kind of doctor.”

He just blinks at her and she waves to the framed diplomas, awards, and other items around her wall and desk, “I deal with kids, Ryan. Not adults and certainly not the supernatural.”

“I’m…I’m not supernatural.”

“No,” Kristina draws the word out some, “But you’re not totally human anymore either, are you?”

He shifts about the seat, more uncomfortable and awkward than ever. He’d hoped getting the whole story out would help, but, if anything – he feels even more upended, “Because of the half soul…thing?”

She sighs, her face sad, “Because of a lot of things.”

Ryan chews on the inside of one cheek, “Take it you mean what I’ve done…the hunting.”

“Hunting and what you did are two very, very different things,” her words are measured, careful, and she nervously pushes some blonde strands of hair behind her ears, “Look, Qyrora’s the one with a degree in psychology. Not me. Are you sure you don’t want-?”

“I want someone _human_ ,” he sits up, sweating hands wring one another as they rest between his knees, “I want someone human who knows what this is like. I mean…c’mon. I have no one else I can talk to. I can’t talk to my friends or family. I can’t talk to Shane. Hell, I don’t even know where he is. And everyone else that I know and I’ve met through this-this whole crazy thing is inhuman. Supernatural.”

Ryan’s head tips back, but his hands remain where they are, his physical positioning as uncomfortable as his mental one, “It’s just-? I feel like everyone’s against me. You know? I feel like they all want me to go back to the scaredy-cat Ryan! The-the one I felt like they secretly laughed at. Poor little Boogara – afraid of his own shadow! Afraid of the dark and bats and-and pigeons! Make believe shit under the bed, except – turns out – that shit is real and it could kill me, but not if I’m strong enough to-to-! And I just-I just…”

His eyes focus on the ceiling above them. It’s a creamy color. Not quite white. It’s always been funny to him how white paint can have so many different names. What is the name of the color of paint above him now? Eggshell? Dove? Cloud? He once saw a paint swatch where the white was called ‘snow leopard’. Is that what this is?

Ryan focuses on whatever white it is as he speaks, “I’m sick of being the weak human. And when I was hunting, I felt…I felt strong. Powerful. That first one, I-I felt like a hero. When I smited Ziggy, I felt like I did a good thing. He was a demon. He was evil. I took him out of the world, I made it a safer place. There were _bones_ down there. Bones of people he’d devoured, so, smiting him felt justified.”

A loud swallow, his tongue thick as he wets his lips, “And there’s…ever since the fracturing…there’s been this _hole_. I-I don’t know how else to describe it. That’s-that’s what it _feels_ like. A _hole_. It’s right in the center of my chest…”

He reached up and touches the spot where he feels it as he talks, “And it-it has _weight_. And it…it’s growing. It hurts. I feel it getting bigger and bigger. Every day, all the time. And-and some things fill it. Like, uh…”

Ryan’s glad he’s not looking at her, “…sex. Sex helps. But it’s…it’s not _enough_. It doesn’t close it. _Nothing_ closes it. It’s _always_ there and pressing down and sometimes I feel like-like it’s crushing me. Like I can’t…I can’t breathe. I can’t _live_. But sometimes I can-? It feels-?”

Each word somehow seems harder than the last, “It feels _less_ when I smite a demon…when it snaps and its energy breaks lose, it’s…life ends…and the hole grows smaller. It feels like it’s going away and I…god, it’s such a _relief_.”

He sniffles and, fuck, is he getting choked up? “I mean, I told you. About that asshole, Charlie. I-I think Shane thought I’d feel sorry for him? But…big guy should’ve done his homework, because that guy was a total douche and he-he was talking shit to me and I-I don’t know!”

His voice grows hoarse with annoyance, “I didn’t see red. It-it was worse than that. It was the opposite, really. Everything was clear and I was just-just so centered. In that moment, I was a hunter and he was my prey and I-I pulled the trigger.”

Just saying it takes him back to that moment. He can practically feel the weight of the gun in his hand, the trigger under his finger, “I pulled it, but Shane deflected my shot and we got into this huge fight and next thing I know, I’m calling Sara. Calling her and going into this place that would normally turn me into a shaky, internet-popular mess but instead I’m-? I don’t know.”

But he _does_ know and he says it, “Excited. I was excited. I sought out this-this danger. These demons and then I-I-? I murked ‘em left and right and I-? I reveled in it? I guess I was…I was hyper? Or high? Or-? All I know was, I wanted _more_. I _needed_ more.”

The last is the hardest for him to admit. For him to say. And yet, somehow, it comes out so easily. Slips from him as if he isn’t the one saying it. As if it’s a script he’s reading or a television show he’s quoting or…it’s not him. But it _is_ and his eyes are still open, fixated on the ceiling as he hears Kristina breathe, “Ryan…what you’re describing…”

Her words are slow, measured, as if she’s trying to find a way to break it to him gently, “ …it doesn’t sound like you’re a hunter. It-It sounds like you’re an addict.”

“An-? No.” That snaps him to attention. He practically jumps upright in the chair, as if she’s hit him with a stun gun, electrifying him into rising, ““No! No way! You can’t become addicted to-to-?”

Her eyebrows rise, “If you’re going to say killing, I’m afraid I’ll have to stop you right there. Because serial killers are pretty damned addicted to it.”

“I’m NOT a serial killer!”

“Well, let’s see,” she starts ticking off on her fingers, “You’ve got a type, you feel a peculiar itch to continue doing it no matter the cost, you use the same weapon when you-!” He tries to stop her with a litany of ‘no’s’ but she won’t be denied, “Oh come on! You’ve done an insane amount of research into this for your show. You don’t think you might, just maybe, be displaying some of the traits of a killer?”

Ryan’s ‘no’s’ die off and the abject misery he feels at her observation has to be all over his face. He can’t see how it wouldn’t be. Because her observation is an apt one. And everything inside him is welling up, hurting. _Aching_. Especially that sucking wound right in the center of his very being and his hand is still pressed there, pressing down hard as if he can close it, heal it.

How can something incorporeal feel so physical? How can someone _feel_ their soul is lacking? It’s not like losing an actual limb and yet…

And yet.

The pain when he’d been fractured rendered him unconscious. He hadn’t seen a knife cut into his flesh – a hair on his head hadn’t moved out of place, yet somehow, he’d _felt_ it happen. Felt this awful, hideous pain so strong it pushed him past his threshold. It happened on a microscopic level, a metaphysical one, but it happened and it was real and he’s…broken.

Fractured.

The procedure is aptly named. He might not have a physical hole in him, but he has a spiritual one that feels neigh on physical. So much so that his hand can’t seem to stop pressing, “Even…even if I am…that’s not what I want to be. That’s not who I am. Not inside. I-I know myself…”

“Do you?” she asks the question innocently enough, but he has to look at her to make sure she isn’t mocking him in some way, “I’m serious, Ryan. Do you know yourself? Does anyone, really? We grow and we change. All the time. Every day. You talk about feeling weak, well,” she taps her wheelchair, “Brother, I’ve been there.”

His mouth opens, closes, and her blue eyes look so damned knowing, “Cancer in my early twenties. One of my legs is actually a little serviceable. The other?” she pats the chair again, “Got some heart troubles too. Lots of fun stuff I won’t bore you with, but yeah…if anyone gets the feeling powerless around the supernatural, it’s me.”

A sour wheeze escapes him, “Great, Now I feel like a jackass.”

“Don’t. At least, not about this,” she tips her head back, “I learned about the supernatural world when I turned eighteen. Big rite of passage in my family. We’ve been servants of the vampires for centuries. You come of age, you learn the truth. You’re sent to a special educational program - gets you all acclimated with the metaphysical – their laws, customs, what to expect. I was more than prepared to be a part of it, excited even, when my illness reared its ugly head.”

Kristina’s lips twitch, “I went through so many periods of thinking that that was the end for me. And not just in their world, but in my own. How could I do anything? Be anything, with _this_ ,” she taps the chair again, “But you know what? I had people around me who cared. Just like you. I had my mom, my dad, my brother – and I met ‘Cora’.”

She finger quotes her wife’s human name, “Having that support system, it helped me turn things around. Made me realize there was no reason I couldn’t still be who I wanted to be. But it was difficult. I felt the part of the weak human and far more than most.”

“Yeah, but, I mean – I take it you, ah, you didn’t counter it with a murder spree?”

“Wow – you actually _call_ it that?”

“Malthazor did, actually, seemed to think it was pretty common…”

Her eyebrows knit together, “He’s a demon…right?”

Ryan nods and she lets out a sound between a laugh and a sigh, “Figures…”

The next thing that comes out of him leaves almost unbidden, “Qyrora suggested Shane and I should bond.”

“Did she?”

“She thought it might alleviate both of our issues. He’s…” Ryan flaps one hand about uselessly, “Got his own thing, started after giving him half my soul.”

The next sound is a full on sigh, “I can’t help, but feel partially responsible,” he’s sure his expression telegraphs how he feels about that, because she clarifies, “I was for the fracturing procedure. Against my wife’s wishes, I might add. Christ, she’ll gloat forever if she hears me say that.”

“Okay, but, you just gave me your honest recommendation. It’s not like you-you joined me in the carving up demons club.”

“Hmm. I don’t know…I might be a member of that. Can’t remember if I have the membership card.”

“Cute.”

“No, seriously – I have so many cards on my keychain. Gas stations, grocery stores…”

“Stop.”

“In fact, what day is this? Is it Sunday? Because I’m pretty sure Sunday was my ‘carving up demons’ day. I’ll have to check my day planner. Or! Better yet – Alexa? Alexa, set a reminder…”

The jokes do cheer him a bit even if his tone stays level, “Can see why Qyrora’s with you. You’re a real laugh riot.”

Kristina leans back in her chair, “Okay, okay – I’ve had my fun. Let’s-let’s get back to it. So? I take it you _didn’t_ take Qyrora’s advice?”

Ryan shakes his head, “Ah, no. I didn’t bond Shane. He asked, but I turned him down. I-I didn’t think it was necessary.”

“Even if it helps you both?”

Ryan finds an interesting spot on his jeans, which he starts to pick at as he mumbles, “Y’know, I-I guess sometimes…” he trails off and for awhile he’s not even sure he’s going to finish the thought aloud. But Kristina is silent and patient and he finds it coming, “…sometimes I think it’ll all go back to how it was. The supernatural stuff…that’ll be over. Past the shit we do for the show. The fake stuff, the _fun_ stuff. Childish, but…”

“Hey, it’s not wrong to feel that way. I get it, I do,” is her soft reply, “But you know it won’t.”

“Yeah,” a heavy breath and he squeezes at his eyes, “Yeah, I do.”

“And, again, as a fellow human, I get it. It’s not easy acclimating to a whole new world. Especially one that’s been hidden under your nose for some time. But it _is_ possible. Like I told you, I took classes, so, there’s still an opportunity for that. But, well, your biggest problems? Deciding to bond with Shane? The hole within you? That-that itch to take lives? I can’t help you with that.”

Ryan stops picking at his jeans and meets her eyes. They’re sad and blue, a soft stormy sky before a light rain, “I _can_ tell you, you’re not a hunter. Maybe that was your original intention, but hunters work within guidelines. They’re quick, efficient, and they only go after the most feral of creatures. I highly doubt lauded hunters like Marcus Delroy and Ariel VandeVoorde would find your actions similar to their own.”

The last catches Ryan’s interest, “Ariel VandeVoorde?” his eyes cast side to side, “Why does that sound familiar?”

Kristina shrugs, “Dunno. I don’t think she floats in the same circles as you. Last I heard, she retired. But, think about this – you told me everything that happened. You told me you recognize that you need help. And hopefully I provided some, but you really need more. You need what I had when I went through my own struggles. Your friends and your family, because – despite their own supernatural gifts – they don’t think of you as the weak human. They think of you as someone important to them – someone they care about.”

He lets her words sink in with a few nods. Kristina gestures to her phone, “Now, I’m going to call Qyrora. Okay? I’ll set something up for you. Like I said, she’s working the night shift tonight. I’m sure I can get you in. Start with her and you can go from there.”

Ryan gets to his feet, hands disappearing into his jeans pockets as he tips his head at her, “Hey, I-I really do appreciate it, Kristina. Your time and your advice. It-it was nice to get a little human interaction.”

“Well, don’t forget the other humans in your life,” she has her phone up, but has yet to dial, “You don’t _have_ to tell them anything revolutionary, in fact – per our societies rules – you shouldn’t. But sometimes confiding in someone like that, someone outside the situation entirely - a parent or a sibling, a friend you haven’t talked to in a long time. It can help.”

Ryan finds his thoughts turning to people he knows from Buzzfeed. Steven and Kelsey, Brent and Andrew and others who’ve left, but he’s still in contact with – Eugene and Zack, Ned and Keith, and thinks about how, maybe – just maybe, contacting them wouldn’t be such a bad idea. He thanks Kristina again, shakes her hand, and – as he leaves – makes sure to allow Bethany one quick picture of them together.

He exists on to the darkening Los Angeles streets and thinks about their conversation, turning the words over in his mind. None of it was bad advice. And seeing Qyrora is indeed the next logical step. He pulls out his cell, prepared to text Sara and ask for a portal when a non-descript car pulls alongside him. Lost in his own thoughts, he doesn’t see the big group of men emerge from it, nor does he have time to react when they grab him, toss a bag over his head, and shove him into the vehicle.

Ryan’s cell lands with a clatter on the sidewalk and stays there as the car drives off and the night grows darker, colder as the sun truly sets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We reach the end game! Only about two or three more chapters to go! Sorry for the once-a-month updates, but this WILL be finished, god/heaven/hell help me!
> 
> Visiting me on tumblr is cool!: [cellard0ors](https://cellard0ors.tumblr.com/).


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for heavy mentions of torture, torture imagery, and attempted sexual assault. Sorry, this chapter is brutal. Remember, protecting yourself is the most important thing!

“…passed out…”

“…AGAIN-?”

The words are hard to hear as they filter in through the haze of agony that’s gripping Ryan. He didn’t know this much pain was possible. He wants to weep, whimper. He does neither. He just drifts out of consciousness, grateful for it, only to drift back in again. It feels like hours, but apparently, it’s only minutes.

“…expect? Guy might be Madej’s slut, but he’s…” (words lost to another wave of pure, blinding PAIN) “…and humans are fuckin’ fragile.”

A gruff hum of agreement from another male voice, “Apparently the bones in his hands broke like glass. Heard him shrieking like a goddamn animal, but – y’know – no surprise there. Aren’t they just evolved apes or some shit?”

“Probably. Don’t know. Don’t give care,” (some sounds, some distant shuffles), “Bum a cigarette offa you, Rex?”

“Sure, for some spirit chips or distilled soul essence.”

“Fuck you, man! I ain’t paying you! Those are just mortal cigarettes! It’s not like they’re soul laced or emotion infused.”

There’s a soft exhale and while Ryan’s eyes are closed, he can see it - the curls of smoke rising into the air, the scent of nicotine teasing his nose even as Rex growls, “You check this guy’s shit for cash? Then _you’re_ not paying.”

“’Course I did.  What kinda dumbass question is that! Put all his stuff over there,” (Ryan has no idea where ‘there’ is and oh god, oh fuck, the sheer hurt. He feels it all over. He’s just one big throbbing nerve.) “But that pouch of his is enchanted. Can’t reach into it. Same for his jewelry.”

“Jewelry?’

“He’s wearing some kinda necklace. Sensed some smited energy in it.”

Rex curses in an unknown, demonic tongue before returning with, “Didn’t see that. Or sense it.”

“What’re you? Level two?”

“I’m a seven and one kill away from a title – so eat me, Serozol,” the sound of him inhaling a deep drag of his cigarette is paramount, “Whatchu lookin’ at, Daz?”

“Him,” And Ryan knows this demon is talking about him and this demon. Oh… _this_ demon. Ryan recognizes his voice the most. Dazaroth. He introduced himself. First demon Ryan met when the bag over his head was removed. First demon to-to hurt him. Just the memory of it makes him flinch.

That first cut, that first peel. The sharpest of knives, so sharp he didn’t feel a thing. At first. But then he caught sight of his blood pouring so freely, trickling down his flesh like water…he didn’t even know blood could be so fluid or maybe he just didn’t know _his_ blood could be so fluid, could leave him so easily, so quickly, so…

…no, no, no. His brain stops, stutters, tries to push all of that away. Lock it out. That’s not _his_ memory. That didn’t happen to _him_. It was something he saw in a movie or in a television show or he imagined it or…

…it wasn’t him. Wasn’t him with his mouth open, some awful little device chipping away at his teeth. It wasn’t him getting pins stuck through his eyelids. It wasn’t him getting skinned by goddamn sandpaper. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t him. _It wasn’t him_.

The awful, mocking sound he recognizes as Dazaroth voice sounds again, so casual, “I believe he might be coming back around.”

Another loud inhale and exhale from Rex, “So what?”

“‘So what’?” Serozol repeats incredulously, “So we gotta give the man some room! Daz is an artist!”

“Eh, I think yer a piece’a shit,” Rex laughs and Dazaroth returns dryly, “Really?”

Again, Ryan can’t see it, but he knows there’s a nod from the smoking demon, “Yeah, man. What you do ain’t all that impressive ta me. Needles, knives, acids – you _did_ use acids, right?”

“Naturally.”

“Strong base?”

“Please,” Dazaroth is obviously miffed, “I’m not an amateur. Alkali burns best. Dissolving cell after cell, going deeper and deeper into the flesh,” he kisses his fingers, “Magnifique.”

“You coulda gone with fluoroantimonic.”

“Yes, I suppose I could – if I wanted to kill him,” this is said in the voice of someone who thinks the demon he’s talking to is a complete idiot, “I was ordered to torture him within a survivable extent. One in which a med kit would be more than sufficient in healing any said injuries so that, once I’ve used one to fully heal him, I can inflict a new set of horrors. And I’ve done so within the best of my abilities.”

Serozol agrees “I’ll say! I saw the pin…needles…whatever, thing, man. It was _gross_! Dude couldn’t blink! And when he did,” a noisy shudder, “Only thing gnarlier than that was when we brought in Ididh'itru! Sneaking him outta the Pit wasn’t easy, but have you ever seen a true mind flayer at work? Incredible. Brought out all this nightmare energy – there was a _bear_ , man. A DEMON bear! I almost pissed myself! And he also did this shit with the dude’s veins and nerves and muscles making them look all distorted and gross and-and-and-!”

“Okay, I get it. Stop fucking embarrassin’ yourself by fanboyin’,” Rex snorts, “ _Jesus_.”

Dazaroth’s quietly questions, “‘Gnarlier’?”

“Yeah, dude. Humans say that! It’s slang!”

“It _was_ slang,” Rex corrects, “Coupla decades ago. Been awhile since you’ve been up top, Serozol. And maybe the eldritch pulled some nifty tricks, but this guy’s work…”

“I AM titled, Rexorhotril. Have a care.” Softly spoken, but the weight of the words shuts them up. Ryan’s just relieved they’ve stopped making him re-live the atrocities inflicted on him by discussing them aloud. He’s also glad Dazaroth seems to have been distracted from Ryan’s return to consciousness. He doesn’t want to go through another round of-of god knows what.

His head pounds, his wrists  – tied behind his back with zip ties – feel like they’ve been worn down to the bone. Broken skin rubbed raw against the unforgiving plastic. His ankles are much the same and Ryan is covered in layers of grime – dirt, sweat, dried blood, and other unmentionable fluids and he can smell _it_ and god, _the smell_.

The fact his own body can produce such a scent is revolting and, just to top that off, there’s the tinier, sharper and somehow worse, stings all over his body. He didn’t know such a miserable existence was possible. Misery. No definition has been so fitting. Why? Because, once you feel it – _really_ feel it – there’s nothing else that truly captures it.

Misery. That’s all there is. Nothing more, nothing else. Parts of him are blazing hot. Parts of him frozen beyond sensation. Resounding aches, throbs, repetitive pulsing twitches that are moments from driving him completely mad and sanity, somehow, he still has his sanity.

And _that_ is the cruelest torture of all.

Rex finally finds the courage to speak again, “Just sayin’….thought you’d be more creative.”

“How so?”

“Uh…well…” Rex doesn’t say it, but Dazaroth lets out a weary sigh, “You expected something sexual, I take it?”

“Mean, he’s human – but he ain’t _that_ bad lookin’…”

“I see. So, you’re _that_ insipid?”

“Wh-?”

“Sexual torture? Really? _That’s_ what you call ‘creative’,” (there’s finger quotes there, Ryan just knows it), “You may be a level seven, but your sensibilities put you far below a one.”

Rex snarls, “‘Bout ready to take on a title, you keep talkin’ shit to me!”

“Is that a challenge?”

Resounding silence. Finally, a soft huff of laughter, “I thought not. But, in response to your criticisms, our employer was very clear. I was explicitly told _not_ to inflict anything sexually debasing upon him and frankly, that’s a relief. As your cohort here was so kind to say – I am an artist. A true artist of the torturing arts is above such base activities. Yes, it causes humiliation, trauma – but it’s the very _opposite_ of original. Some demons see it as the end all be all – as do some humans and I find them…abhorrent. Insulting. Beneath me.”

The following smirk is nearly audible, it’s so clear, “Much like you, Rexorhotril. You are a level seven. I am a duke. You are below me. Understood?”

No response. Dazaroth lets out a pleased hum, “Now, if you two shall excuse me, I do believe our guest has been listening in for quite some time. A regained consciousness means I must return to my work. But first! I require a very particular set of tools. Gentlemen…”

Ryan hears Dazaroth leave as his stomach sinks, the icy cold drop of it, makes his whole body tremble. No, no, no - he doesn’t want Dazaroth to come back. He doesn’t want him to bring back anything ‘particular’. He doesn’t want another round of torment – he can’t stand it, he can’t take it, he _can’t take it, he can’t, he_ -!

“You _really_ don’t think someone should have some fun wit’ ‘im?”

Ryan’s eyes open. Glazed slits. His rapid panic attack is cut off as his vision darts to one side. The room is barren save for the chair he’s in, a lone bulb above his head, and a rickety table. The walls are dark concrete, coated in gleaming moss and water stains – the world’s highest and tiniest barred window letting in the thinnest stream of moonlight.

On the other end of the room there’s a single door and near it he can just make out one of the demons forking a thumb in his direction. It’s a big, burly demon. His wings are blazing scarlet and his horns are curved close to his bald skull. He’s overly muscular – a body builder, maybe. He has a cigarette gripped between two thick, sausage like fingers. Rex.

The other, a smaller, skinner type, eyes Ryan. Serozol. His all-black eyes scan over Ryan and he runs a hand over his closely cropped black hair, fingers bumping over his own horns – red as well, but sleeker, sharper, “Mean, I agree. He’s not _unattractive_. But you heard Dazaroth, man! Adamox said-said no, ah, sexy stuff…”

“Well, Adamox ain’t here,” Rex returns confidently only to follow up with a very unconfident, “Is he?”

“Dunno. Heard he was. Probably is. After all, everybody left is here. Only a handful of us from the Madej cabal and that name – sheesh, the fact the guy annihilating us still carries it, is such a fucking joke. Like anyone wants to run around with a name like that. Humans adopted a name like that. Totally bogus.”

Rex groans, “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“That 80’s shit. Pick up some new slang…”

Serozol lets out a little annoyed huff, “My point is, it’s just us and some of the cabals Adamox recruited. The Rajteck cabal, the Shiwasu, the-!”

“Okay, but is _he_ here,” Rex stresses, “Anybody actually see him?”

“I…well, mean… _I_ didn’t, but…”

Rex smiles, Ryan can see it, all fangs and _way_ too big. The smile doesn’t fit on the human façade he’s wearing. His cheeks stretch as if they’re made of plastic, his jaw elongating to inhuman proportions, “‘Course not. That’s what I’m _sayin’_ , Serozol. Far as I know, ain’t nobody seen the big boss in _centuries_. All we get is orders handed down to us. And, even if he _is_ around, he’s probably got his hands full with Madej’s uprising.”

“…so?”

“So…” Rex looks to Ryan again. Ryan just dead eyes him back. Serozol’s swallow is deafening, “Oh! Um…”

“You don’t gotta stay. You squeamish,” Rex snorts, “Or, mean, if you want some…”

“Ahhh…I don’t? But-but maybe I should-should stay-? Just to keep watch?”

“You like to watch?”

Serozol’s skin darkens, “That’s not what I-!”

“Whatever. Don’t give a shit either way. Gonna do this, I gotta get it done before Mister high ‘n might duke gets back,” Rex moves towards Ryan and Ryan looks away. Looks away and sees a bloody table to one side. A bloody table with his satchel on it. _His satchel_. It’s close, but nowhere near close enough. He tests his restraints and tries not to yelp, the plastic from the ties cutting deeper.

What’s he going to do? What’s he going to do? How is he-? He has to-? The panic from before returns to grip him wildly about the throat. He can’t let this happen. He _won’t_ let this happen. Rex enters his field of vision. The guy smells like cigarettes and too much Axe-body spray and he still has on that deformed grin, “Well, well – look who’s awake.”

Ryan doesn’t look up. His eyes sting. They’ve been blackened, swollen shut, healed, and then blackened and swollen shut again. They’re fine now - save the burn of sweat and blood that drips into them every few moments and just seconds ago he was overcome with panic. But now?

Now…the strangest calm has taken over him.

An otherworldly serenity. It’s as if he’s shifted outside himself. As if he’s someone else. He’s not Ryan Steven Bergara. He’s not even Ricky Goldsworth. He’s someone else. Someone new. Someone he doesn’t recognize. Someone who whispers, “Come closer.”

Rex cups an ear to one hand, “What’s zat, sunshine?”

“…come closer…”

Ryan doesn’t know where the words come from. He doesn’t know who’s speaking them. He’s just a spectator. He feels nothing. He _is_ nothing. He’s no one and nobody. Oh, he _feels_ his lips move, he _hears_ the voice that is his own, but _he’s_ not there. Someone… _something_ …else is.

The demon dips down.

“…closer…”

Rex’s wings quiver, one of his hands is on his belt, working it loose even as he bends down more, bends his head closer and closer to Ryan’s face. The heat radiating off the demon is rampant. Burning brimstone. He’s well within Ryan’s personal space. Rex’s pointed ear is bent towards Ryan’s mouth. His neck is craned and open. It’s perfect.

The memory of Shane’s first kill flashes through Ryan’s mind the instant he attacks. He has no plan, only instinct, only an animalistic impulse that fuels him as he pushes himself as bodily forward as possible, enough that his mouth – his teeth – can clamp down on one side of Rex’s throat. 

The chair he’s bound to scrapes and jostles loudly on the floor, his wrists scream out in agony, but he that doesn’t matter. What matters is thick, tough skin beneath his blunt teeth as he bites. Ryan’s never actually bitten someone. Not like this. But he is now. 

He’s using all the force he has to clench down as much as possible. He knows he doesn’t have the proper ferocity of force to accomplish ripping the guy’s throat out – human jaws are not built for that kind of predatory experience – but he’ll be damned if he lets up. Even as coarse, disgusting black blood lands on his tongue, even as Rex swings out at him hard, bellowing, even as…

…and then something even stranger happens. There’s a heat around his neck, a pulsing of energy. The crystal he’s wearing – he  _feels_  it, feels a warping reverberation of power – and suddenly his pain is completely gone. 

As are his restraints. The plastic zip ties snap away as if they’re nothing and the chair he was bound to flies back away from him, as if pushed by an invisible wave. 

Ryan’s hands rise up and grip Rex’s skull hard, fingernails digging in time with his teeth. Both dig deeper than humanly possible as there’s a twist, a snap, and then the demon is gone. Smited.

Rex’s energy, white smoke, breaks around Ryan for a moment. Tendrils of it zip over his shoulders, around his chest, his legs, curving up around his neck and face before finally zeroing back into the crystal. Ryan looks down at it, then looks up, and slowly - ever so slowly – he smiles. 

Bottom lip cut, nose bleeding, eyes glittering like dark. perfectly polished stones – teeth stained pinkish red and black with gore – he  _smiles_.

To Serozol’s point of view, there had been no time to react. Maybe to Ryan it felt like an eternity, but to Serozol, it had been only minutes. One minute, Rex was bending over the human, getting ready to do the devil knows what and the next he surged up and bit him. Bit Rex and there was a scuffle, some violence, and it all happened so fast, so quick, and before Serozol knew what was even happening, it was over.

 Rexorhotril, level seven, one of the mightiest demons known in the Pit, gone. Smited in a flash. Smited by a _human_. A human who was once reportedly bonded to the greatest betrayer of their cabal. A human who’s… _human_. Or is he? The look in his eyes, that smile…

Serozol hisses, his wings spanning out, jaw elongating to reveal several ridges of long, sharp fangs, claws at the ready but the human – he moves fast again. Too fast. He dives towards his satchel, reaches inside and the last thing Serozol sees is a gun pointed at him, the last thing he hears is the sound of it going off, the last thing he feels is the freezing chill of a holy water bullet slicing him in half.

Ryan, now alone and triumphant, stands with the still smoking gun in his hand. He falls back slightly, the table his satchel had been resting on whining as he does so, as it bears his weight and movements. Ryan’s head is spinning, his body hurting yet _not_ hurting and the euphoria. A wave of it is washing over him and he feels…fantastic. High. Like he’s fucking _flying_.

_It doesn’t sound like you’re a hunter. It sounds like you’re an addict._

Kristina’s words come back to him. Is that what this is? A hit? A relapse? Ryan barely starts questioning it when he hears footsteps and fuck, Dazaroth. He puts the gun away because no, that’s not good enough, and he reaches back into the satchel, the endless weapon coming into his hands effortlessly. It changes shape even as he takes ahold of it, changes and changes, until it’s molded into a perfectly curved hook.

He goes behind the door and the demon barely enters before Ryan’s on him, the sharp end of the hook sinking deep into the back of Dazaroth’s right knee. Dazaroth howls, crumpling easily, random implements of torture flying from his grip and his descent is great for Ryan, who gleefully drags the hook upwards – craving it up through the thick flesh of the demon’s back thigh.

But that’s not good enough, not brutal enough. It doesn’t satisfy the wailing chasm within Ryan’s chest and so he draws the weapon back, changes its shape even as Dazaroth claws wildly at the floor, his whole body twitching. The lithe demon looks so small, so pathetic, as he scrambles about at Ryan’s feet.

Ryan watches impassively as the weapon takes its next form - a big, hefty mace. One which Ryan swings down at the demon’s head without mercy. Ryan’s over top of him in an instant, his momentary dispassion giving over to an uninhibited fury as he lashes out. Over and over and over again.

The blunt weapon flies up and down, cutting smoothly through the air with a vicious savagery as Ryan’s breathing accelerates, his pupils blown, his heart thundering as he ruthlessly lashes out. The demon lies on his belly like the snake he is, Ryan’s feet on either side of his hips and Ryan’s blind with frenzied rage, not even really taking in his actions, not even truly seeing them.

Yet he feels the insane force of each swing, feels warm blood splash upwards in a wild arc as it paints his chest, his neck, fuck knows – the floor, maybe even the _ceiling_. Dazaroth’s twitching dies away when a thick, sickeningly wet crack rings out only to be followed by an immediate snap. The demon expires, his energy running up into Ryan’s necklace and Ryan’s strength leaves him again, making him collapse to his knees and oh, oh…

_Should’ve drawn it out. Should’ve made him suffer. Should’ve made him beg…_

Thoughts of that ilk stray in hyper fashion in and out of Ryan’s consciousness and he’s still so…so _exhilarated_. His heart hasn’t stopped its unpredictable staccato rhythm, breathing totally off, and the hole...the hole within him is _singing_. Bigger than ever, but somehow bright and working within him to make him feel…

It’s as if he’s plastered out of his mind. Everything is shining and spinning and the pain is but a memory and the door and Serozol’s words. _I_ _t’s just us and some of the cabals Adamox recruited. Demons, demons, demons…there are other demons here…more energy…more blood, more power, more of a chance to hurt them…_

The thoughts make no sense and he staggers slightly as he gets back to his feet, as if he’s inebriated or stoned to the gills. An addict? A hit? A relapse? Or an overdose…maybe he’s going for an overdose. This is his last thought as he wavers to his feet, endless weapon and satchel still in hand.

 

+

Ryan’s thought process is minimal.

He has the satchel back on his thigh, he’s drawn a bullet proof vest on over his ruined clothes (thanks pre-packed hunter gear) and he’s covered head to toe in dirt and blood. All of his injuries are forgotten as he moves through whatever underground horror show he’s in.

It’s not completely underground. He knows that from the window he saw in his ‘cell’, but he’s pretty sure wherever he is, its’ mostly subterranean because as far as he’s seen, demons are a pretty stereotypical lot. This is just confirmed as he works his way through long, dimly-lit hallways. There’s the occasional door, but each one he comes across is locked (of course) and while he has his gun drawn, he’s had yet to see another living (or unliving) soul.

Which is a shame, because while he’s running high on adrenaline its flagging with each passing second. He needs _more_. His hands are sweating, itching, as they clutch his gun. He wants to fire it, he wants to hear more of those snaps that signal a demon’s been smited – no, not any demon – one _he’s_ smited.

He wants to see their bodies disintegrate into energy, watch it flow towards him, flow to the spot right near his throat, only inches above his chest near his heart, the center of his being where the hole within him resides and just as he pauses, just as he questions that line of thinking, a slew of armed demons appear.

Perfect.

Wonderful.

He takes aim and its pure bliss. They fire at him, but somehow, despite their no doubt years of experience, he’s better – faster. He snipes them left and right and it’s exactly what he wished for. They fall like dominoes – bullets piercing through chests, knees, guts – even a few right between the eyes, heads snapping back, skulls popping, blood flying, and he can’t stop smiling, one corner of his mouth twitching, an uncontrollable tic.

It’s cool, choreographed chaos. It’s an action film, a shooter game. It’s well timed, wonderfully executed violence. He doesn’t question its flawlessness. Doesn’t question how any of this is possible. He just kills and kills and moves forward and ignores the tiny scrabbling voice in the back of his mind – the one that sounds like the old him, the one who sounds like the scared one – telling him this isn’t right.

That this is wrong.

This is all wrong.

Something not right. Something’s not…real…

But as he steps over the few bodies there are (human hosts, rotted husks) and turns another corner he finds the endless hallways with their very few twisted turns have finally come to an end. There’s a door. It’s a very familiar door. Or rather, doors.

It’s the same set of ornate double doors he saw in one of his dreams of Shane’s past, the same set of doors that took him into Adamox’s office. He’s not in that place now, not in that time, yet somehow these are the exact same doors. Ryan didn’t admire them the last time, but now he can see the intricate details – the cravings. Twisted bodies, nightmarish creatures, crude shapes and strange symbols (words?) and the last time he’d faced these doors there had been a servant to part them, but this time they open of their own violation.

There’s no ominous creaking, no hefty wafting of a large egress being swung opened, the silence is almost more eerie – sinister. Especially when Ryan enters the room only for those same doors to shut noiselessly behind him, welcoming him (or trapping him?) in this room.

This room…it’s very similar to the office he saw back then, the same ebony fixtures, dark red accents, yet what little ivory is here is muted. Shadowed. Everything is shrouded in shadow, the only light coming from an overly expansive skylight above. Just a whisper of stars, the moonlight…

This place…it’s like a cathedral. Or, better yet, a throne room and Ryan – unaware he’d even lowered his gun – swiftly brings it back up. He has to stay on the defense! This is no time to get awe-struck by the goddamn scenery.

Although, it’s hard when he sees what’s right across from him. Back against the far side of the room rests a risen platform, a massive chair right in the smack dead center of it that screams royalty and – what’s more – it’s occupied.

Someone is sitting on the throne. He can’t see their face, but their hands and feet are somewhat visible, even with the gloom of their surroundings. He moves cautiously forward, mouth running without thought, “So? Are you the big bad? The main boss?”

No answer.

“Adamox?”

Still nothing.

Ryan keeps edging forward, “I didn’t waste any time talking to anyone else I came across. Just shot ‘em dead and moved on. Probably should do the same with you, right? That’d be the smart move.”

Ryan’s trigger finger wriggles eagerly. It’d be so _easy_. Just the barest pressure…

But he finds he doesn’t want that. Not for this. Not for him. Adamox…the head of the Madej cabal, the one who considers himself Shane’s leader and overlord. No. He deserves more consideration than a quick end and Ryan still has the endless weapon, can still do some other kind of damage. Hell, having had them inflicted upon him, he now knows whole new levels of tortures…

…to recreate them on someone else…better, to inflict them upon the very demon who ordered them in the first place…

Ryan continues his measured progression forward and he keeps waiting, waiting for Adamox’s smooth, cultured voice - the one he heard in the dream. But it doesn’t come. In fact the figure on the throne doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. They just…sit there.

Sit in the darkness and Ryan’s less than a foot away now, mouth set in a grim hard line, “What? Don’t want to speak up? Don’t-don’t want to give me some condescending, gloating speech? Threaten me? Scare me? Tell-tell me I’m out of my league or-or some super villain shit like that?”

The resounding quiet, the unresponsive figure before him, just goad him on, “Where’s the bad guy monologue, huh? Do I-do I need to draw out my spirit box to-?”

The moment he gets close enough, the moment his foot hits the first step of the platform, a loud spotlight sounds above the throne, illuminating it. Powerful white light showers down to reveal Malthazor taped to the throne and not with just any kind of duct tape.

Glittering orange runes decorate it, keeping Mal’s wrists and ankles locked in place, not to mention the big one over his mouth. A tiny stream of blood runs from the top of his hairline, to leak down over his right eye and his eyes…they’re wild, worried, and he’s clearly trying to talk, to make noise, but there’s not even a muffled sound – the enchanted tape clearly part of that.

“Mal?” Ryan goggles and then, much to his continued shock, two more spotlights come to life on either side of him. They reveal two more decorative chairs and – tied to them with the same tape – is Judy and Qyrora. They too, seem to have received the same kind of treatment as Mal, slightly wounded, but otherwise okay.

Ryan wobbles back at the sight, almost tripping over the step he took up as a third and final set of spotlights go up and under these? Under these are not chairs, but glass prisons. Prisons being the best description looking at their inhabitants.

On the left, next to Judy, is what appears to be Gladys. Smoky ether floats within the cylindrical glass – every now and then a face appears – one that bears Gladys’s features, her beehive hair style a dead giveaway. But she’s mostly lost – fluctuating in and out of visibility.

On the right, next to Qyrora, is Sara. Sara too, is trapped within a strange column of glass, but unlike Gladys, she is very visible. In fact, she’s caught in an array of bright rainbow colors – rushes of circular discs passing up and down the glass and Ryan realizes its portals. _Her_ portals.

They undulate over her in rapid succession – opening and closing at will. Her eyelids flicker unsteadily and it’s clear she’s in agony. She can’t escape! She’s trapped inside this fucking cocoon, her powers channeling back over her and the sheer audacity of what’s happening to his friends is almost more than he can bear.

He removes the tape from Mal’s mouth and Mal looks relieved, only managing ‘Ryan! Thank the devil! It’s-!’ before the demon’s words dry up. His mouth is still working, but there’s no sound, save for something that resembles thunder rolling through clouds, followed by a softer noise, “Ah, and here we are at last! The penultimate chapter! The prophecy fulfilled!”

Ryan turns to see Raziel behind him, the angel smiling serenely, “…well, _almost_.”

His mouth flaps uselessly before he lets out a bitter bubble of laughter, “Fucking should’ve known…”

Raziel merely cocks one eyebrow at him in answer and Ryan turns to him, gun raised. His finger is just pulling the trigger when the angel waves a hand and Ryan…can’t move. He’s frozen in place. It’s exactly as it was back at the Colorado Street Bridge. Back then, Shane had scratched him with the Pisadeira’s nail – kept him locked in place while he’d sacrificed himself to the Void.

Now? Now it’s just an angel exerting a bit of his power. An angel who has the feline look of contentment about him, “Afraid I have to put a pause on this. Much like I did with Malthazor and the rest of your friends. I couldn’t have them interfering again. Their arrival at Charon’s was quite unfortunate."

Ryan swallows, eyes managing to squint in answer even as Raziel continues, “But this time I took the proper precautions. I even made sure to tape the demon’s mouth shut as well as place the enchantment on him. Best way to ensure his silence. And as for you? Well, we have so much to discuss, you and I. It was your request, was it not? The…what did you call it? ‘Bad guy monologue’?”

Ryan’s throat works, but he can’t answer. He strains to answer. To move. But he can’t. Raziel just sighs, hands going to the pockets of his fancy suit pants, “I’d like to clarify that I am _not_ a bad guy. Oh, I’m sure to your current point of view I am, but I assure you, I am very much _not_. I am merely an angel carrying out his duty. His one true task and purpose.”

He walks closer to Ryan, “Do you recall what that is?”

Again, he can’t answer, but he does find, much to his delight, that he can roll his eyes. Apparently Raziel didn’t know he could either and, seeing the silent but very obvious reaction, lets out a bright chuckle, “Indeed, indeed. I must apologize for the theatrics. The lights, this room, my forth coming revelations, but you must understand, I absolutely adore it.”

He breathes in deeply, arms outstretched, “The spectacle! The drama! You know my father – he loves it as well. The flood, the burning bush, oh, and the sacrifices! Demanding them of the humans, of his son! His very own son crucified only to rise from the dead – the first to do _that_ little trick, I might add, don’t flatter yourself as original.”

Ryan really wants to do more than roll his eyes, because goddamn – the shit this guy is _saying_. He’ll probably strain an eye muscle, the number of times he’ll repeat the action to get his message across. Raziel must sense that as his arms lower, “You know, I rather think I’d like you to be able to speak. My initial intention had been to move this along – after all, it’s not as if I have to tell you anything. I don’t _have_ to explain my motives. I don’t have to give anything away if I have no wish to.”

Raziel strolls closer to Ryan, rocking on his heels, “BUT I shall admit to some vanity on my part. My desire to share a dialogue with you, a banter…very much as you do with my dear brother, so,” he raises a hand, curls his fingers out, “that in mind…”

A loud exhale escapes Ryan and he can speak. He still can’t move his arms or his legs, but he can talk and the first thing he growls is, “You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?”

“Ha! I DO as a matter of fact.”

“Let me guess – _you’re_ Adamox.”

“Oh no!” Raziel gasps, truly chagrined, “No, no, no! Ryan, Ryan, Ryan! I know you are a much more creative than that! That would be too horridly unoriginal. Try again.”

“He doesn’t exist.”

“Again, derivative. Do you honestly think I would be behind something so banal?”

“Look,” Ryan grouses, “I don’t give a shit about any of this, alright? I don’t give one flying fuck why you did anything you did! I want you to let my friends go an-!” his words dry up on a choking wheeze, an invisible fist closing around his throat.

He just barely catches sight of Raziel’s fingers curling back up, forming a fist, “Oh Ryan, _please_. I’ll admit as to not subscribing to the idea of lying being a sin, but at _this_ level…” he tsks, “You should know better.”

Raziel comes ever closer, “You _do_ want to know, Ryan. You’re a detective, after all. A seeker of truth, a purveyor of the unsolved – no, you want to know. So, please - when I allow you your voice again, I must ask you not spit out such falsities. It’s…” his eyes squint up and his tongue licks beneath his upper lip before he decides on, “…not nice.”

His fingers uncurl and Ryan exhales again, the pressure that kept him from speaking loosening once more, “Fine. Then just tell me, you pompous bag of dicks!”

Another peal of laughter, “Always so delightful!”

“You very obviously _want_ to tell me, so just get on with it! Bask in the smell of your own farts and how goddamn clever you think you are or whatever!”

Raziel’s forehead creases, “Fa-?” he stops himself, obviously unable to bear repeating such a word, “How crass. Yet I _did_ say I wanted to converse with you as Shamsiel would, so I suppose that on me.”

He shakes his head, “Very well. I shall ‘get on with it’ as you say. Although it is rather rude of you to rob me of the splendid dramatics of the infamous parlor room scene. Much better than a mere monologue.”

Now Ryan’s forehead creases and Raziel explains, “You should know it. The parlor scene. Very Agatha Christie. Anyone who’s fancied themselves a detective _longs_ to do the bit where you reveal the who, what, and why of it all. The _mystery_ and THAT’S what I reminded you of earlier, albeit you did not answer as I would have wished.”

“Angel of mysteries,” Ryan says and Raziel nods like he’s a child who’s finally answered their teacher correctly, “Yes. _That_ is my title. My purpose. I am also known as the Keeper of Secrets, but, as you can imagine it’s…trying. Keeping _everything_ to yourself all the time. Having ALL the answers. Who shot JFK, what happened to Amelia Earhart, Stonehenge – and there more, so much more, and I know it all. Why, I even helped to create some of them. That is my father’s wish. For me to provide your kind with the entertainment, the fascination, the spectacle.”

“Is _that_ why you’re such an extravagant bitch?”

Raziel just gives him a warm smile, “Maybe so.”

Ryan breathes in through his nose loudly, rage making his blood boil but his current situation not allowing him to do a blessed thing about it. If only he could pull the trigger on the gun in his hand…

Instead he has to listen to the angel rhapsodize, “But we’re losing the narrative. The exposition, which I must provide because, to be fair – I left you very little clues to solve this mystery yourself, so – Adamox!”

He announces the name with glee, both hands returning to his pockets as he walks about in a circle, very much encapsulating the image of a Broadway actor trodding the boards, “It’s not his original name, of course. Like many of the fallen, he took up a new one. It was not the first time he would make a new name for himself, nor, dare I say – the last.”

The look he shoots Ryan at this makes him shiver. Frozen as he is, he _still_ manages a shiver.

“He chose Adamox, because it was sort of a bastardy of our father’s first human creation. Oh and _Adam_ – written as being made in our father’s image, when nothing could be further from the truth, but I digress…”

“Adamox fell and rose in the ranks quickly. He had no qualms when it came to challenges, to do what needed to be done to rise within the ranks of the demon hierarchy and, as such, he took the mantle of leader of the Madej cabal with ease. You witnessed him, of course, in the dream I provided you and there, my dear boy, lies the rub.”

Raziel walks up to Ryan again, all smooth grace, “I provided the dream. And one could make the argument that I am somewhat of an, shall we say, unreliable narrator.”

“You changed the dream,” Ryan doesn’t ask it, he just states it.

“Indeed, “the angel concedes before sniffing, “Well…a _part_ of it. For example, all you witnessed as far as the conversations ring true. Adamox questioned dear Shamsiel, he deduced he might be the threat Alys presented in their prophecy and he gave him unrestrained access to the Slumber Chambers with the idea of neutralizing him then and there.”

“I remember,” Ryan says, because he does and the expression Raziel gives him is crafty, “Then you also remember that I vowed to keep an eye on him. Which I did and, well, you’ve been around demons a lot of late…know their tendencies towards rash, thoughtless actions – how impetuous they can be. They are very, very predictable and Adamox was no different.”

Ryan absolutely hates the way this douchebot is stringing him along, but knows he currently has no other choice _but_ to play along, “Meaning?”

“Meaning he took a swipe at Shamsiel whilst he slept,” Raziel crosses his arms, looking even more terribly pleased with himself (if possible), “It was a solo operation. No doubt he feared censure from his underlings if they knew. They might have viewed it as an act of cowardice or weakness – after all, smiting someone in a Slumber Chamber doesn’t have the proud dignity of an outright challenge.”

Raziel leans towards Ryan, looking him dead in the eyes as he states, “So, I interfered and smited him first.”

“Adamox is dead,” he does everything he can to make his voice sound as unimpressed as he feels. It’s all starting to add up now. Raziel has been masquerading as Adamox and his cabal thinks he’s alive. Easy peasy. After all, it’s clear the angel is the head jackass in this scenario, and he’s about to say as much when Raziel surprises him by tilting his head to one side, “Mmm, yes and no.”

The desire Ryan has to tilt his head back in frustration to match the moan of annoyance leaving him is paramount, “Are you ever going to fucking just-!?”

“Energy cannot be created or destroyed,” Raziel cuts in as if Ryan hasn’t spoken, “That’s one of your laws of science, is it not? Whether fact or fiction has been of some debate to my understanding but the point lying therein is _energy_. Science! Our father walks hand in hand with science. After all, if you found an easy way to manufacture something, why would you still create it by hand?”

It feels like the conversation is derailing off into a place where Ryan can’t follow, but the angel looks gleefully manic, “God found that way. He put into place procreation so that humans could be ‘fruitful and multiply’ – words from the Bible that are actually _worth_ their salt, because it’s _science_. It’s a shortcut! God doesn’t craft each and every human! You all do that yourselves with your gross, sweaty fumblings that produce more and more of you. BUT!”

The last bursts out of him with bright joy, “But you still require that spark of life! That soul. That energy and HERE! Here is where the prophecy – MY mystery – comes into play.”

Raziel walks up to Ryan and brings his face close, he looks deep into Ryan’s eyes, searches them as he speaks softly, “Yes, I smited Adamox. I collected his energy in the very same necklace you wear now. When a demon is smited by another demon, his energy is absorbed – making that demon that much more powerful, but when an angel smites a demon? We collect the energy in a vessel and release it.”

“Usually it’s released into the Earth or the atmosphere. Sometimes it’s taken into the outer limits of the stars, of the planets, of all of existence, but I had Adamox’s energy. I alone. He took a solo operation as I myself had done and here I was – keeper of this secret, of this power and I began to think to myself, what if I could recycle this energy. If I could change it…”

The last is the barest of whispers and Raziel’s mouth hovers near the shell of Ryan’s ear, “…change it into a _soul_.”

The angel looks more like a demon as he pulls back and looks at Ryan and Ryan…Ryan has the worst feeling.  A terrible, terrible inkling. One that cannot possibly be true. Even the enchantment keeping him in place isn’t strong enough to keep him from this, from the smallest of head shakes, “You’re…you’re crazy. F-full of shit. You can’t possibly-?”

“Our father has been lapse. Dismissive,” Raziel’s voice dips to temperatures it never has before. He’s normally so sunny, even when being a dick, that to hear him now makes Ryan’s whole nervous system seize, “Even you mortals have noticed. He’s gone from this plane. Lost to us. He put science into place to pick up the slack and do the work, so he could go off and galivant about, do whatever he wishes – and why not? He has the power! We are of no concern to him! He merely wanted to prove he could create us and, once he did, he washed his hands of everything! EVERYTHING!”

The rampant viciousness of the words, the malice and heat within them, surprise Ryan. Show him he doesn’t know this angel at all, “It was easy for me to get access to Alys, to fill them with the idea of the prophecy and that’s where it began for me.”

The angel draws away, runs both hands through his hair, tugging at the dark tresses of it, “I was so sick and tired of entertaining your lot. Of knowing the _entirety_ of it. Of there being no questions, no doubts, no mysteries for me – past, present, future – it was all spelled out and so I longed, just once, for my own challenge. My own unanswered puzzle, so I gave Alys the words – the idea – of a low level, nobody rising to overthrow an entire cabal and then I let the chips falls where they may.”

His hands drop from his hair and, with his back to Ryan, Raziel seems to have collected himself. To return to some semblance of serenity. When he turns back, he’s as pragmatic as ever, “Much like father – a science experiment. Observe, question, test…I helped put the prophecy out there and waited to see what the outcome would be, but when Adamox went for Shamsiel, well, I refined the parameters – made myself an even _more_ interesting hypothesis. Additional data and caveats – a demon’s energy reconstructed into a human soul! What would happen? What or who would come of it and now we know…”

Raziel moves towards Ryan so stealthily, so smoothly, it’s as if he’s not even walking. It’s as if he’s floating, drawn inexorably with unnatural effort closer and closer to Ryan, their eyes locked with such intensity that neither can look away, “Don’t we, Ryan. Steven. Bergara?”

The way he says his full name. Each announced with more damnation than the last. But there’s nothing for Ryan to say. He can’t speak. It’s as if Raziel closed up his throat again. There’s no words. Not for this. And what Raziel is saying, what he’s suggesting. It can’t be true.

It can’t.

Because it’s crazy.

Insane.

Because Ryan knows who he is and he’s not…he’s not…

“So strange,” Raziel looks him over and one hand rises up as if to touch him and Ryan’s mind flashes back to when he first met the angel. It feels like decades ago, but Raziel had done this then as well, raised up a hand as if to touch Ryan’s face, “How you took the aspect of the sun about you again. Was it being reborn that did it? Channeling your energy over into a soul, becoming mortal…is this what heaven for a demon is? Or perhaps just a fallen angel…to once again be reunited with that which you love most…”

“I’m not Adamox,” Ryan spits the words out and just making himself say it is akin to drinking poison. Raziel just keeps one hand hovering near Ryan’s left cheek, “You wouldn’t remember it. The few who _have_ been reincarnated don’t. It’s quite traumatic. Few consciousnesses can recall such a radical reformation of their core. But I remember it – I am, after all, not only the Angel of Mysteries, the Keeper of Secrets, but of Past Lives. Did you not know?”

He sighs and the hand finally lowers, his expression one of sorrow, “No. I don’t suppose I shared that with you. I have so many titles…”

“Chief among them should-should be Angel of Shit, ‘cause-‘cause you’re full of it, if you think that I-?! Even for a moment, that I’m-!” Ryan is huffing and puffing, a variety of different arguments wanting to escape him at the same time, but the angel is unmoved, “You know the truth, Ryan. I know you do.”

“In the dream-!”

“Yes, I conjured up a plain, Hannibal Lecture-ish looking fellow. Couldn’t very well show you _yourself_ , now could I? Although, to be fair, you didn’t look _quite_ as you do now.”

“Shane-!”

This train of thought is cut off quickly, “How would he remember? Or know? You forget how long he’s lived. How long he’s slept. Do you recall, with perfect clarity, every face you’ve ever seen? Especially the one’s you’ve interacted with only fleetingly?”

Raziel’s logic is sound, making Ryan all the more hysterical, “I’m _not_ a demon. I’m a _human_. I have a soul!”

“You _had_ a soul,” Raziel corrects, “One which you rendered in two for your lover’s benefit and that! Oh, that’s been an unexpected boon to this experiment! Watching you slowly but surely fall back into your old habits! The hole, or – more fittingly – _void_ within you growing and growing ever wider. Yawning towards a point where it will completely absorb what little soul there is left and here is the other fun revelation, I shall share with you!”

Raziel claps his hands, “The prophecy speaks of a low level rising to insane power, of their being only one to bear the name Madej – the last of their name – and now you, YOU, have been revealed as – in your own way – being part of the cabal! Thus, part of the prophecy! Everyone banked on it being Shane – even Shamsiel himself! But it could very well be you!”

His laugh rings out in an echo, “After all, what level is lower than that of a mortal human being?”

There’s a…loosening. Ryan feels it. The enchantment Raziel exerted to keep him in place is starting to unravel. He doesn’t know if the angel is doing it on purpose, or if he’s distracted from all his goddamn talking, but Ryan can feel himself, for lack of a better description, _thawing_. Life is slowly but surely flooding  ack into his limbs. He can twitch his toes, his fingers.

They flex, ever so lightly, on the gun.

Just a little more…

“Speaking of, I’ve been meaning to ask you – how did you not notice? And by that, I mean your escalation in power, in ability? Or did you not think it odd you had no trouble fighting off _demons_? Did you think it sheer, dumb luck? Humans are known to rely on that. Luck and chutzpah and chance and I assure you, it was _none_ of that.”

“The necklace has been absorbing the energy for you, funneling it back, making your lack of soul worse and worse – eating up what’s left of it and yet, some remains. You _do_ have quite the resilient soul. Perhaps because it was formed from reconstituted demon energy? I’ve done everything I can think of to vanquish the last of it, to help you reach your full potential – encouraging you to stain your hands with blood, having you tortured to the brink of sanity, yet still there's the flicker of soul within you. Bright and pure. The fact that you _haven’t_ turned into some demonic atrocity is quite the accomplishment…”

Raziel’s back is to him. The gun. He can _feel_ it in his hands now. It’s weight. It’s power. He’s used it so many times. It’s never failed him before. It’s his. And smiting an angel… _an angel_. The thought makes sweat bead on his forehead and if anyone deserves it…

“But,” Raziel lets out a loud huff, “I think it’s time we catch our breath. Re-evaluate. The experiment, the prophecy, is reaching its conclusion. At long last, we shall see who holds the title. Last of his name. Shamsiel should be here soon – of that I have no doubt – and you two shall face off, with only one walking away. That being said," he laughs to himself at this, as if it's his own private little joke - referencing Ryan's commonly spoken phrase, "you still have a bit _too_ much soul in you to properly–!”

The next moment is crucial.

It happens so quickly, so unexpectedly, as to be both blindingly fast and excruciatingly slow.

The full force in Ryan’s limbs returns. Free from the frozen state, he pulls the trigger of the gun. It fires. The holy water bullet zips towards Raziel’s face. The angel doesn’t move an inch. His smile merely grows more wicked, white teeth on full display as the bullet zips towards him and then – at the last second – changes course.

It _turns_.

It turns in a tiny, fluid arc and comes back towards Ryan. Ryan, in what feels like slow motion, steps to one side – but the bullet’s not going for him. No. He turns and watches as the holy water bullet goes straight for the only target it can. The demon behind Ryan. The demon strapped to the throne.

Malthazor’s eyes widen in pure alarm as a startled, single, sharp ‘No!’ leaves him right as the bullet slices through him, an explosive snap ringing out. Smited; Malthazor bursts into white energy. Ryan cries out, horrified, as that same energy zeroes into the crystal around his neck. He claws at it, tries to stop it, but there’s no use. It’s too late. The energy disappears, sinking into the crystal’s depths.

The stone glows bright, then dims…

And Malthazor is gone.

A wounded, confused noise leaves Ryan as he collapses to his knees. He holds the crystal close and just stares at it. Stares, struck dumb, as he gasps, “Mal…?”

“Directional bullets,” Raziel explains gently, “Remember?”

Ryan’s eyes well up and it’s hard to see. It’s hard to see.

“They’re engineered to seek out demons. It found its target.”

Ryan’s legs slowly curl up underneath him as he keeps holding the crystal, keeps looking down into its cloudy surface as if it will answer him, as if, somehow – it can be fixed. But it can’t. Malthazor is gone.

And still the angel speaks, “Would it ease your mind to know he was quite the torturer in Hell before coming up top? Much like Dazaroth? That he killed and tormented-?”

“ _Shut up_!” Ryan’s shout reverberates back to him, hollow and pain filled. His whole world shaking, his eyes glazed with unshed tears, “Just…” he rubs his thumbs over the crystal, sucking in a sob, “…shut the fuck up…”

Raziel shoots him a pitying glance, “He _was_ just a demon.”

“No…he was my friend,” Ryan moans and this pain…this is the kind of pain torture can’t give you. This is the kind of pain that is worse. Much, much worse.

Raziel merely sighs, “Well, regardless, it would appear that not even  _this_ death damns you. That last bit of soul,” he clucks his tongue, “You just can’t seem to shake it off, can you? And considering I need you in the right frame of mind for what’s to come, there’s little choice left…”

A blinding, blazing light shines at Ryan’s back. He turns to look over his shoulder and Raziel…Raziel is different.

He looks…

Ryan can’t even describe it. It’s beyond human comprehension. It’s his true form. It’s _terrifying_. And it comes straight for Ryan – changed now into a pure, golden light that floods into him. It enters through Ryan’s eyes, his nostrils, his mouth. It pours over every pore, molten liquid fire, _consuming_ him and Ryan can’t speak, can’t scream, can’t do anything but be completely and totally possessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [quackers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quackers/pseuds/quackers) for the tortures. I could've never dreamed up that stuff on my own! ;D

**Author's Note:**

> Visiting me on [tumblr](http://cellard00rs.tumblr.com/) is cool.


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